You Used To Irk Me
by Lyndail
Summary: To put a bandage on her quickly dwindling reputation, Quinn comes up with a plan that requires Rachel as a participant. But just how well will any of it work out?
1. Chapter 1

The football flew wildly across the field, and hard teenage muscle, clothed in red and white McKinley colors, collided in gruff frenzied search of it.

Quinn watched from the benches. She could never understand why this sport or its players were so important, so valued, at McKinley High. But they were, and she was no longer really a part of it, which was the reason why some of her more rebellious peers now felt like it was completely fine to argue with her, and cut her in the lunch queue. Small as those acts of treason may seem; they would only get bigger, like a pernicious cancer. Being Head Cheerleader wasn't enough anymore. Not when she'd had the perfect Quarterback boyfriend to go along with the rest of her gleaming accolades. Soon she could expect to be nudged in the hallways, where her peers used to part for her like The Red Sea. Soon she could expect the dreaded... slushie treatment. The same slushie treatment that she had invented the very first time that she'd seen Rachel Berry wearing that hideous Argyle sweater vest.

The grim reality, now that Finn had, 'kicked her to the curb,' - as Jacob Ben Israel's blog had so astutely put it - was icy for sure.

But she was Quinn Fabray.

She had a plan.

Firstly, how could Finn Hudson break up with _her_? In her mind, it was like a cabbage breaking up with a diamond. He was as dumb as cabbage, that was a scientific fact. But he was smart enough to recognize when his ego had been pierced, when it was aching, and with that thought Quinn peered out at her long and clumsy ex-boyfriend.

Out of nowhere Puck viciously bowled him over, sending Finn's body spiraling through the air. The ground seemed to groan when he thudded into it.

Quinn allowed the scheming smirk that had asked permission of her lips.

She spotted Rachel Berry just outside of Glee club's doors talking to Mr. Shue - no doubt boring him with another one of her extravagant and overzealous ideas.

Quinn rolled her eyes. She was going to have to stop eating if she was actually going to go through with this ruse, she decided. Who could keep their food down after having Man Hands paw all over them, whether it was authentic or not?

Mr. Shue seemingly couldn't escape fast enough. He took off, run-walking down the hallway with his briefcase swinging in his grasp, leaving Rachel to cup her mouth and smell her own breath. Was that the problem?

Quinn pounced like a lion in the wilderness.

With her pale hand scrunched up tight in the neck of Rachel's sweater vest, she led them through Glee club's double doors, only letting go when the doors swung still and shut. And boy did she let go.

Rachel slung her hand out at the last minute, resting her palm atop the piano to steady herself. Her chest rolled up and down hastily, her bangs chaotically thrown to the side. "Even for you, Quinn Fabray, this is low! You have always walked a tightrope where it concerns the lengths that you'll go to to torment me. But you've never gotten physi -"

"Just cooperate, and I will never have to get physical," Quinn mocked, frogging her fingers for quotation marks, as she slowly walked up on the girl, "with you ever again."

Rachel blinked over and over, putting a steadying hand to her chest as she relived the terror of being grabbed from behind and dragged to an unknown destination...

Ok, so the destination had been a known one. But she wasn't Rachel Berry if she wasn't throwing a hand over her eyes like an exaggerated damsel in distress. "What is it that you want?" she asked testily, just wanting to see the end of this, though she regretted it once her long-time bully's face elongated with a menacing smile.

"You're going to pretend to be my girlfriend, so that Finn comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees."

A gasp that Rachel hadn't even authorized puffed from her lips. She went through many stages in those few seconds, ending with complete and utter condoundment. "W-What?"

Quinn decided that she was going to have to take it up a notch when it became clear that Treasure Trail was going to be difficult about this. So, she placed her hands on her hips, adopting that signature Cheerio stance. "You," she enunciated, poking a finger into Rachel's chest, "are going to faux-date me, so that Finnept comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees. Understood?"

"I,I still don't understand."

Quinn rolled her eyes and sighed. "Step one: we pretend we're dating. Step two." - She folded another finger down - "Finn's ego takes a blow because not only have I left boys for girls after dating _him_; I've left _him_ for _Rachel_ _Berry_. Step three: he literally comes crawling back to me on his hands and knees. Step four: we take our PDA up a notch, just to burn the images into his pasty forehead, so that he remembers what's going to happen if he ever breaks up with me again. Step five: we intentionally get caught making out by Jacob Ben Israel. He'll interview me, and I'll willingly tell the whole school that I'm now a Rachel-Berry-sexual because of how deceiving the gigantic size of Finn's feet were. Then there's the inevitable step six: you and I have a big fight, and publicly break up. I'll then predictably find comfort in Finn's arm, and we'll ride off into the sunset together," Quinn concluded, clicking her tongue testily, like the mere mention of riding anywhere with Finn gave her the runs.

"Did you just?" Rachel paused, and crumpled in on herself a little with a chuckle that beautified her entire face. "I'm sorry," she giggled, waving her hand at the blonde as if to tell her to knock it off. "But I just thought I heard you say that we were going to make out." More laughter, nose-crinkling explosions of laughter, spluttered out.

Panic swallowed Quinn whole. Her eyes twitched as they flickered still mid-blink. She wasn't used to being laughed at by her peers. Rachel's shrill waves of never-ending laughter sent a sliver of ice up her spine. As if to break the ice before it set, she darted forward and snatched the collar of the suddenly silent and owlish brunette's vest. "Shut up!" she sneered quietly.

Tan fingers slowly crawled up to clasp the pale hand that was balling the vest's neck.

"Unhand me, Quinn," Rachel whined, though she didn't struggle at all.

Quinn glanced down at their touching hands, and she was far from impressed when she figured that a lot more skin on skin contact with Man hands was going to be taking place soon. So she let go. Just like that.

Rachel smoothed out her sweater vest, and then folded her arms defiantly. "Why would or should I do anything for you, Quinn, when you treat me, and religiously have me treated, like the semen that gathers in the end of a condom?"

Quinn frowned at the absurd comparison, merely shaking her head in defeat, because fuck if she knew... "_Because_ there's something in it for you, Berry," she spat. "If you do this, the shitty treatment stops! The moment that I get my pull back, say hello to slushie-free days. Say hello to actually getting to eat that vegan crap at lunch without having it dumped all over your head. Say bye to the brutal but true nicknames. I might even wink at you in the hallways, as a personal thank you from time to time."

Rachel managed to hold the oncoming bray of laughter that brewed beneath her somewhat serious exterior. "If I stumble into another fit of giggles, you'll thump me won't you?"

"You bet."

Rachel let her face crack, and from there she went rolling around that colorful bowl of mirth.

Thump schmump.

No thump ever came.

Both girls hot-footed it through the parking lot, Rachel on the way to her car, and Quinn; right behind her.

"You want me to beg? Is that it?" Quinn husked, the heat off of her lips chasing Rachel's ear.

"I don't want anything from you, Quinn. But I do appreciate the laughs."

"I'm the only one who can do something to get the _vultures_ in that school to back off!" she whispered acrimoniously. "Help me get my pull back, and I'll personally make sure that you enjoy being at school more than you enjoy going home." She hoped that the buzz of nearby traffic drowned out the blatant desperation that was woven into her voice.

But Rachel's ears lapped up every discordant inflection. This was beautiful. "It would be mendacious of me to feign indifference at the prospect of having a peaceful academic career. But I don't trust you, nor do I want to help you from a genuine place. However, I do want a peaceful academic career." She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she chewed on Quinn's plan. "How do I know that you won't go back on your word - discard me as worthless - once you're done with me? How do I know that I'm not a mere pawn in yet another lofty prank of yours?"

"I'll... I'll write something incriminating on some paper, and you can take a photo of me holding it, or something."

Rachel squinted. "... Like what?"

Quinn was irritated by the brunette's caution. She'd thought that Rachel was going to jump at this proposition with all four limbs. Still... "I could write that I stole the cell phones that went missing in the girl's locker room, last month. Figgins is still thirsty for blood."

"Did you?" Rachel gasped, horrified for all of a nanosecond, until she remembered who she was speaking to. Everything seemed to be a cruel means to an end when it came to the icy Head Cheerleader. Anything was possible.

"No, Stubbles!" Quinn snapped. "I'll just say that I did! If it gets out, I'll be screwed. But it _won't_ get out, because this is genuine. We're just scratching each other's backs."

"... Ok. I'll do it."

"Ok. Good," Quinn muttered tightly, attempting to maintain at least some of her pride. "Effective tomorrow. I'll pick you up in the morning -"

"I really don't deem that to be all that necessary, Quinn -"

"I _said_ I'll pick you up in the morning!"

If it wasn't final before, it certainly was after that.

Rachel bid Quinn a small tilt of the head, which the blonde wasn't shocked by; the brunette was usually always polite. What she was, however, totally and utterly stirred by was the manner in which Rachel then smirked and flipped her the bird; knowing that there was nothing that Quinn could do about it, because Quinn needed her now.

"Well then..." Rachel said as she dropped the offensive gesture and smoothed down her sweater. A satisfied smile swayed her features. "I should get going. I expect you to be at my house early; I won't have you tarnishing my flawless punctuality record."

Yeah... Quinn was so not over this freak flipping her the bird. Her pale hands balled and then flexed down by her sides. She fought the pressing instinctual urge to cause harm with them.

Still, one of them left a slight blemish in the roof of Rachel's car as it slammed, ferociously, into the metal. "Look freak, this will go as smoothly or as turbulently," she hissed, slamming her hand down again in the same spot, "as you want. You do what I say, _when_ I say it! I'm the one who's steering here."

Rachel straightened her back, standing as tall as possible. "Come break-up time, I am going to throw all of my weight into slapping you for whatever it is that you will have done to make me faux-break-up with you. Obviously, you'll be the dominant one in our relationship, so clearly the problem in our relationship will be your fault. Or have you not thought that far ahead?"

If Rachel wasn't anything else she was thorough.

It threw Quinn off a little. _She_ should've thought about that. Because she hadn't, she feared that maybe there were other things left unchecked, and she just couldn't afford for any glitches...

What brought her back was the way that her mind endlessly echoed the words that RuPaul had just said.

Quinn suddenly clutched her head, and closed her eyes. "Firstly," she breathed out, distress trickling down her forehead in tiny beads of sweat, "you might use those man hands to pluck the stubble from your chin nightly, but you are never going to use them to slap me. Secondly, _I'm_ breaking up with _you_, because _duh_!"

Rachel scoffed, and Quinn opened her eyes to glare at the brunette.

"I could just as well break up with you. Despite your best efforts to make me feel ugly and unattractive, Quinn, I know that I'm not. You may find me repulsive, and so may others here at McKinley. But realistically, people think that I am average or adorable. I had my fathers conduct a street survey once -"

"_As_ I was saying! Thirdly," the cheerleader emphasized through gritted teeth, "I will beat the vegan out of you if you ever slap me. Is that clear?"

"Quite. I guess that it's just a risk that I may or may not have to take."

With that, Rachel hopped into her car and carefully eased out of the parking space. She took off without so much as a glance in the wing mirror.

Wearing a slight frown, Quinn watched. What exactly had she just gotten herself into?

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Not a terribly original idea when it comes to Rachel and Quinn. But if you want my take on it, then stick around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well I am glad that a lot of you guys seem to think that I have executed this idea well. I was worried people would see it as just another high school faberry fic and roll their eyes. Thanks to those of you who followed your curiosity and read the first chapter, and an ever bigger thanks to those who took time out of their day to review. Massive compliment. ;)**

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Quinn parked up outside of the Berry household, and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. The last time that she'd seen this house, it had looked like a fraying mummy. The entire thing had been Azimo's idea; Rachel had apparently shot down his romantic advances. So naturally his next course of action had been to buy fifty-eight rolls of novelty bacon-scented toilet roll.

Quinn had been there right along with the rest of them that night, cracking eggs against the auburn bricks that made up the dead unlit house. Dressed from head to toe in black, she'd moved with the shadows, whilst the likes of Azimo, Karofsky, Santana, Finn, and Brittany had papier mâchéd the large front window.

The Lima Police Department were still looking for the culprits.

Quinn had a feeling that Rachel knew the truth though.

As she dragged her gaze over the house, she noticed a small surveillance camera twigging sophisticatedly out of the brickwork. That was new. It was slick too; barely noticeable but for a squint.

She looked at her watch and a growl bounced quietly around her throat. Surely Rachel had seen her parked outside by now...

Her well-manicured fingers continued to drum away. Fuck if she was knocking the front door. Rachel's fathers most likely despised her, and there just wasn't time for a grilling from them, when she had to talk their daughter through the day's plan.

The quirky red front door gently clunked open soon after, the noise nudging Quinn's eyes in the house's direction once more, where they zeroed in on Rachel, who was dressed even more obnoxiously, today, than she normally was.

Quinn's fist clenched and trembled in her lap. She was certain that Rachel's over-the-top ensemble was no mere coincidence. No, she saw the garish hand band bow and those navy blue Penny Loafers for what they were; Rachel was planning to make her work incredibly hard to get McKinley High to buy that she was dating her.

"You wanted this, Quinn," she sternly reminded herself. "Suck it up, and do what needs to be done!"

Right then and there, as she thought about holding Berry's hand, and gazing into her eyes lovingly, it struck her that this was not going to be the last time that she heard that pep talk from her own lips.

She pulled the lock in her door up, listening to them all unlatch as RuPaul skipped down the steps that led to her house.

A small tremble worked through the vehicle when Rachel opened the passenger door, and settled into the seat. Smiling, she passed her palms over her skirt to protect her modesty. She was quite eager. There was a part to be played.

The smell of peaches suddenly swirled around the confined space.

Quinn grumpily wrinkled her nose, because for as cheap as it smelled, she liked it.

"Good morning Quinn. Thank you for arriving early. I feared that you wouldn't."

"_Now_ you want to be all nice and polite, after you flipped me off yesterday? You know, I'm not gonna forget that," Quinn bitterly reminded her, as she lowered her one hand down to the key that dangled from the ignition.

Rachel swiftly reached for said hand, halting it - against its owner's wishes - from undergoing any further movement. "Before we go..." She paused, pulling a neat sheet of paper out of her bag's smaller compartment, along with her cell phone.

Quinn had always been intellectually sharp. She had caught onto what was happening before she could even think to frown.

"You're _so_ annoying! We're not doing that now, Man Hands! We have to talk about how we're going to play things today!"

"No," Rachel drawled patiently, as if she were addressing a child. "We are, in fact, going to do this now Quinn Fabray. Or I'm afraid there's going to be nothing to play out. The insurance comes first. You have given me no reason to believe that this isn't just another vicious prank of yours." Her eyes blinked with an unyielding but owlish twinkle.

After a few tense seconds Quinn growled, snatching the sheet of paper from the brunette. She quickly ran her eyes over what was written on it. But her gaze hastened to return and linger on the clear red lettering once what was written had actually sunk in. One of her perfectly threaded eyebrows slowly hinged up. She spun the sheet of paper around so that Rachel would look at it. "Really?" she asked, monotone.

"What?" Rachel frowned, sub-consciously lifting her chin as she felt the power leaving out through her chest to pour into Quinn's. She'd been enjoying the rush of power over McKinley's Head Cheerleader perhaps a little too much. And now... "What's wrong with what I've written?"

Quinn's pink and glossy lips cracked into half a grin as she turned the paper back around and read, "I was the one who stole those cell phones from the girl's locker room, _suckas_?" She eyed Rachel almost obsessively, attempting to get the urban slang to sit with those knee-high Argyle socks, and that monstrosity of a head band.

Yep. Failure was how that inevitably ended. "Suckas? Really?"

Rachel held her phone up to the blonde who was essentially making fun of her, and huffily clicked the button on the side of the device.

The flash momentarily washed the space between them with light.

As Quinn aggressively clawed the air for Rachel, she squeezed her eyes shut, blinded by the almost psychedelic white spots that littered the space behind her eyelids. "Take that God damn flash off, idiot!" she yelled, furious.

"My thumb slipped." Rachel casually waved it off, before venturing into her cell phone's settings and disabling the flash mechanism. "But that will hopefully teach you not to mock your girlfriend in the future. I will have you whipped and trained within a week."

Quinn could hear the annoying smirk that danced all over Treasure Trail's lips. It clearly hadn't been an accident.

Her sight cleared eventually and she used it wisely, sending a skin-curdling glare Rachel's way. "I'm not playing games with you, dwarf! I can make this entire experience as dark, for you, as you're so clearly trying to make it for me."

The brunette shrugged as though she was oblivious. "I apologize for temporarily blinding you, Quinn. Now, if -"

"Did you turn the flash off?" Quinn barked over her.

"Yes."

"Then let's take this freaking picture already!" The Head Cheerleader proceeded to angle her body, and press her back to her door as tightly as it would fit. She held the stupid piece of paper at chest level, almost like a mug-shot. It might as well have been, being that it implied what it implied. "Take the shot!"

Rachel carefully drew her phone back, and then took it forward again, experimenting with the depth and angle of the shot. "Smile, like you're smug about the fact that you stole those phones," she instructed in a low focused murmur.

Whilst gritting her teeth the entire time, Quinn forced out a smirk.

"That's... great. But if you could just make it a little less painful? More smug."

"Take the shot _now_, before it gets a whole lot more _painful_ for you!"

Without warning the car lit up with another flash, although it was a lot less intense than the last one.

"Are you fucking serious?"

Rachel's eyes took to scrutinizing the image that her phone had captured. "Oh," she finally replied, albeit absently. "That was the secondary flash. I failed to disable that one. Most of the time I forget that it's even there."

"God!" Quinn grimaced, knowing that she was going to be spending a lot more time with this... this intentionally difficult pest. "I cannot believe that you're this irksome! No _way_ are you this aggravating!"

It suddenly dawned on her that there was a good chance that she was going to get to know the real Rachel Berry, and not just the dwarfy, big-nosed, pathetically unfashionable, ruthlessly ambitious caricature that everybody had turned her into in their minds.

What if the real Rachel Berry was even _more_ unbearable than her caricature?

Quinn blanched, gripping the steering wheel tightly as if to comfort her mind.

Rachel put her phone away. "Yes," she nodded, unapologetically, "I am _this_ irksome. What were you expecting, Quinn? You're going to see everything that I do through the fact that you dislike me anyway, whether I am that way or not. I might as well play along, and irritate that superiority complex out of you." She sat back, her back hitting the seat with a petulant thud as she tugged her seat-belt on, and then folded her arms.

She was right, Quinn concluded after a few seconds of pensively watching the other girl. If they'd been two friends, most of what had just transpired would have come under the _funny mishaps_ category.

But there would be more time to ponder that some other time, like when she was crawling the walls with boredom, or something.

There couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes left until that jarring first school bell.

Quinn blindly tossed the incriminating sheet of paper into the back seat, and pounced. "We need to talk about the plan for today, and by _we_ I mean that _I'm_ going to tell _you_, and you're going to follow every last direction down to the letter. Understood?"

"You forget, Quinn," Rachel spat whilst making a point not to look at her long-time bully, "that I now have pictorial leverage over you. Not only that, but _you_ need _me_. Yes, I would really like the merciless bullying to cease. But I'll live if it doesn't." It was at that point that she turned her head, fingered some hair out of her face, and regarded the scowling blonde nonchalantly.

"_What_ are you _getting_ at?" Quinn ground out through her teeth. Her eyes narrowed with nothing but bad intentions, boring into the impossible midget.

Rachel shrugged a shoulder, and was blunt when she said, "I want to have some creative control over how we go about this dating sham."

Now that that was out there, she went back to quietly peering out of her window; it was seriously lovely weather out.

Quinn's knuckles inevitably grew white around the steering wheel. Angry red sores were going to blemish her soft delicate palms soon, but in that moment she felt not a morsel of pain. She felt nothing but ire and frustration. "Creative control?" she yelled. A band of her soft blonde hair popped loose from her previously perfect ponytail. "This isn't one of your awful stage productions! This is my life! We do this _my_ way, Rachel!"

"Well what do you know; you _do_ know my name," Rachel retorted chirpily. Her sudden grin was infuriating. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. "Nevertheless I've changed my mind. Now I want _full_ creative control over how we navigate this dating sham!"

For a moment, Quinn seriously considered tying Rachel up, dumping her somewhere rural, and finding another loser to help her carry out her plan. The outcome wouldn't be as effective if it wasn't Rachel - Quinn might even have to rearrange a few of her meticulously thought-out steps - but it would still work...

"Do you hear that, Quinn?" Rachel suddenly asked. Her tone was different now; firm with the purpose of driving home its point, but softer somehow. "Do you hear your frustration in the silence - that hopelessness? Do you feel it? The unspeakable anger and frustration that you can't direct anywhere else but inwards, because the person that you're interacting with is being completely and utterly unreasonable?"

The hellish mist before Quinn's eyes gradually cleared, the world around her slowly phasing back into her awareness. She'd heard every one of Rachel's questions though. The only difference was that now she could see the agony that was etched into Rachel's face, to go along with those questions.

The answers were simple.

Yes, she felt it.

Yes, she heard it.

But she commanded her lips to remain as they were. Sealed.

So Rachel continued. "That is how you and your goons make me feel on a daily basis. Feel it, Quinn! I may never get a chance to inflict it upon you again. When you and your goons aspire to silence me, and strip me of all color, I feel that and more! I just want you to remember that when you look at me from now on, Quinn. See that I still manage to laugh, smile, dance, sing, and enjoy my life!"

"Alright!" Quinn shouted, if not for anything else but to silence the brunette's rant. She'd heard enough, and they didn't have time for this! "Ok! I get it. I'm a bad person! But you won't have to go through that once I'm back with Finn," she played along, in the hopes that telling Rachel what she most likely wanted to hear would end this chapter, so that they could move onto more pressing matters.

But Rachel merely rolled her eyes at the blonde's paper thin performance.

Her efforts to make Quinn understand the damage that she'd done, over the years, had failed, and right along with them: any hopes that the blonde would genuinely feel bad and apologize, so that they could get through this situation without her holding so much resentment towards the pretty cheerleader.

But Quinn didn't care. She'd proven herself to be completely unapologetic.

Without a second thought, Rachel made her choice. She would continue to make this difficult. Quinn didn't deserve her utmost cooperation or her expertise in improvisation. "It would be smart to get going. We can discuss today's itinerary in the car before the bell."

Whilst eyeing the stony brunette through a suspicious squint, Quinn decided that she didn't like the feel of this sudden shift at all. It was an unnecessary complication in an otherwise simple six-step plan.

She growled low in the back of her throat and cranked the key in the ignition.

Yesterday, as she'd watched Rachel pull out of McKinley High's parking lot, she had wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Today, as she pulled off, she had received her answer...

Parked, soon after, in the more or less empty McKinley High parking lot, she quieted the engine, silencing the only source of sound that had perpetuated throughout the otherwise silent car ride.

Man Hands was giving her the silent treatment. She was sure of it.

It irked her beyond belief. To the point that the tips of her alabaster ears tinged a sore pink. It wasn't winter. She wasn't cold.

She was irritated.

Her peers didn't ignore her... except for the fact that some were starting to now that Finn had broken up with her.

The reminder of her diminishing social standing lit a new fire under her ass where the other one had dwindled.

"This is how today's gonna go down," she began, her eyes focused, "we're going to hold hands as soon as we exit the car. When we make it to the hallway, we'll go to your locker. I'll discreetly hand you the rose that I have in my bag, whilst concealing the exchange by stroking the small of your back. That will divert everybody's eyes. You'll then pretend to pull the rose out of your locker. I'll smile adoringly at you as you smell it, and then you'll throw your arms around me. After that I'll kiss you on your forehead. At lunch, meet me in the toilets that are out of bounds, and I'll fill you in on the outline for the rest of the day, as well as snap some cute photos to create fake history for our relationship. Any classes we share are to be spent shooting one another steamy glances. I want pet names and longing gazes. Are you clear on all of that?"

"Quite."

Quinn glared at the monosyllabic diva. "If you fuck this up, it's going to cost you your precious voice. I'm persistent and driven. So I'll figure _something_ out to make that happen, believe me!"

"How pleasant," Rachel quipped sarcastically. "It won't, however, be necessary. I plan on using this as a serious acting exercise and challenge, Quinn," was the sum total of what she had to say in response, dig intended.

Though beneath her casual exterior she was stirring a figurative cauldron, and smirking as the delicious aroma of pre-satisfaction wafted up her nostrils.

She wasn't planning on fucking anything up. Just the opposite actually...

"Not _that_ much of a challenge! Let's not act like you wouldn't be falling all over yourself if this was real," Quinn just had to counter.

Rachel let her have it. After all, she was going to laugh last...

For as dead as McKinley High's school grounds had been five minutes ago, they now crawled with life; rife with teen spirit and anxious social hierarchy.

Far from it were any of Quinn and Rachel's peers expecting the bombshell that was about to hit them. They weaved in and out of one another like the sun rose every morning, none of them batting an eyelid.

Just another day at McKinley High.

Except that it wasn't.

"Are you ready?" Quinn asked, poising her hand on her door's lever.

"I offered to hold your hand minutes ago in the spirit of practice. You declined. I would say that it is _you_ who isn't ready."

"Shut up and get out of my car," the blonde hissed.

Rachel chuckled merrily, and vacated the vehicle. She skip-walked around to the driver's side, opening the door eagerly.

When Quinn stepped out, and hiked her bag up on her shoulder you wouldn't have known that just seconds before she'd been scowling. Her cheeks rode up, full and rosy, with the pseudo grin that she shone down at Rachel. "Thanks for getting my door, baby," she said, stiltedly leaning down towards the brunette. It was now or never. Fighting a grimace, she just did it - leaned down and brushed her lips against the brunette's temple. She hoped that it had looked more graceful than it had felt.

Rachel only grinned up at her in response

Quinn just couldn't help but feel like the syrupy-ness of it was a threat of things to come...

Still, she smiled back, hip-checked her door closed, and allowed Rachel to slip her hand into her own.


	3. Chapter 3

**I would like to thank you guys again for the interest in this story. Wasn't expecting it, but something told me to post it anyway. I apologize for the delay in updating. I am currently working two jobs :( I'm somewhat exhausted, but you should see me jotting down notes here and there at work lol.**

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Perplexed glances hit Quinn and Rachel from every which way as they, together, made their way from the parking lot towards the school, their hands swaying between them in that bold love-struck way.

Cars screeched to a halt, clumsy horns sounded; students stumbling over their own feet to get a second look at the unthinkable.

Quinn smirked, her stride gaining more strength and purpose. So far so good. Everyone seemed to be lapping it up, and as Finn's IQ was astronomically low, it was fair to say that he would eat it up too.

Now Santana, on the other hand, was most likely going to be more of a challenge...

She was Quinn's feared second in command; always the bridesmaid but never the bride, despite her punishing exotic beauty and the fact that her tongue knew neither forgiveness nor mercy. Nevertheless, the perpetually disgruntled Hispanic girl seemed to possess this impeccable gaydar, and although she and Quinn sometimes bantered and flirted - which was, at best, Quinn's discreet instrument for manipulating the Latina into falling in line - the Head Cheerleader was pretty sure that Santana knew that she was really all about the dick. She wouldn't buy an inch of the blonde's quasi romance with Rachel, 'Man Hands,' Berry.

Still, Quinn had decided that she would cross that bridge when she came to it. And, at all costs, she _would_ cross it.

Something impossibly soft had taken to murmuring down the knife of her index finger. She let her eyes flicker in the direction of the small tan hand that snuggled her own, and saw that the _murmur_ was in fact the pad of Rachel's thumb. It floated up and down, ever so gently.

If body heat were not a thing, Quinn might not have felt anything at all.

But she did feel it, fluttery in the depths of her toned stomach - dizzying at her smooth porcelain temples.

Oh, and it tickled too.

"Quit doing that," she gritted out through her teeth, cutting Rachel a look - though her light uppity tone of voice, and girlish giggle uttered nothing, to those watching, of just how uncomfortable – and irritated - she truly was.

Yep... the stroking continued.

In fact, Rachel had begun to hum a quirky little melody to the rhythm of the defiant strokes.

Beautifying her angry clenched teeth with a pageant-worthy grin, Quinn squeezed the hand that clasped her own with force, and tugged Rachel into her side. Hard.

That annoying whimsical hum was quick to cease, giving way to the dull thud of their shoulders colliding.

"_Baby_," Quinn emphasized with forced gentle patience, as she gazed feigned affection down at the now spluttering brunette, "I'm _telling_ you to quit doing that! It tickles." She'd spoken ever so pleasantly, though her eyes had been narrowed, intent on communicating every malicious syllable that her lips couldn't.

At the last minute she threw a loud misleading giggle on the end, and watched a nearby peer dramatically fling himself back, fainting, into an unprepared and annoyed friend's arms. It was clear to see that he was definitely the Rachel Berry of that clique.

"Quinn, honey," Rachel broadcasted, before quieting down to hiss, "you were the one who did not want to practice in the car. If you had accepted my offer, maybe we would have been able to establish some guidelines. Now leave me alone to experiment with what works best."

"It's _my_ hand!"

"No," Rachel drawled, slinging up a lone haughty finger as a precursor for the correction that she was getting ready to make. "It's _our_ hand. I don't feel that I'm asking for too much here, Quinn. In an equal relationship, everything is to be shared. I happen to enjoy your hands. So surrender them to me, like a good girlfriend."

This was a nightmare.

An absolute nightmare.

No such frustration had ever festered this deeply within Quinn's heart. No power struggle had ever festered such anger. The toxic emotion pooled outwards, infecting more and more of her thoughts, with every feather-like stroke that her unwilling finger endured.

The slender pale digit twitched with an idea, and slyly skated the air away from the brunette's persistent thumb.

But to no avail.

Rachel's shoulders jerked gently under the pleasant duress of a giggle, as she victoriously pinned Quinn's squirming finger in place... beneath her thumb. "You know, sweetie, us dating is so much more fulfilling than I ever could have foreseen. I'm thrilled that I ever gave you a chance to begin with."

Quinn's nostrils flared. How dare RuPaul defy her this way?

And she wasn't her God damn sweetie!

"You give a deranged loser a bit of power, and they turn into whatever the hell it is that you are right now - on top of the goblin that you already are!" she spat from the corner of her smile. "I don't know who you think you –"

Chuckling, Rachel clicked her tongue and waved the blonde off as if to tell her to stop it. "I'm your girlfriend, silly." Her marble brown eyes playfully rolled of their own accord. "Seriously, I don't know why I'm even attracted to you sometimes," she chimed, bumping shoulders with Quinn's in the way that people who were actually fond of one another did.

The turbulence of the shoulder-check trudged through Quinn's frame like someone had slapped a forkful of her favourite bacon to the floor, just as she'd been lifting it to her lips.

She wasn't fond of Rachel. She wasn't fond of being one-upped and silenced into powerlessness. She wasn't fond of being shoulder-checked.

She hated it!

Her lips hungered to spew that which littered the dark recesses of her mind. But as they entered the hallways of McKinley High, surrounded by the keen ears and eyes of their dumb-struck peers, Quinn knew that she had no choice but to embrace this role fully... even if it meant that she was going to have to go along with the unpredictable rollercoaster that was Rachel Berry.

She could do it. She _would_ do it.

It was time to go big or go home...

Hung up on the walls, like menacing war propaganda, were posters that boasted colorful utterings of the upcoming school dance. They resembled war propaganda to Quinn at least; she knew that she would have to take Rachel, parade her around, and dance close with her, all whilst trying not to dunk the brunette's aggravating face into the fruit punch and holding her there until the diva stopped flailing...

"Quinn," Rachel cooed softly, snuggling into the cheerleader's side as they approached her locker, "I want us to pick out our outfits for the dance. I'm worried that I won't look worthy standing next to you. I mean, and not that I don't really appreciate it - but why must you be so perfect?"

Quinn's gaze drifted down, falling upon Rachel's affectionate and content expression. Shining up at her, the procured attraction was staggeringly real. The way that those big brown doe eyes drooped at the corners, the dreamy smile - all of it! So authentic. But more than anything else it was disconcerting, because Quinn had never had anybody look at her in such a way.

Rachel was good!

Quinn would give her that, however begrudgingly.

"Rach," she cooed back, "don't be stupid. You'll look nice in whatever you wear. You know that." She smiled pools of warmth down at the suddenly shy brunette, and brought their clasped hands up to her lips so that she could brush them across the back of Rachel's hand. "Even if you wear what you're wearing today," Quinn murmured into the soft flesh.

Rachel's cheeks warmed a nice rouge. She ducked her head just so, and preened her over-the-top bow, whispering, "thank you, baby," just loud enough.

"You're more than welcome, Rach."

When they, soon after, reached Rachel's quirkily decorated locker, students began to gather in their usual cliques; eyes wide, mouths agape, cell phones recording.

Rachel wasn't ashamed to crack a merry dimple or two - to admit to herself that she was enjoying all of the attention. To finally be looked upon with stunned silence by people other than her fathers, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, was nice.

People seemed to be much too confused to toss a slushie at her face, which was always a good thing.

Standing sideways-on to the gathering cliques, Quinn happily broke apart their joined hands, sliding her arm around Rachel's petite waist, until her hand relaxed at the intimate dip in the brunette's lower back.

What no other present soul knew, however, was that she'd simultaneously slipped a rose out of her bag and discreetly handed it to Rachel, who'd hidden it beneath her arm's length as she reached, casually, into the locker.

The somewhat loud crowd that had now accumulated, scattered like spilled peanuts, coaxed only the most curious of McKinley High's staff out to the doorways of their classrooms, from where they watched, with authoritative crossed arms and above-it-all eyes, whilst sworn enemies Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry bizarrely celebrated the romantic gesture of a rose.

Despite her uniform body language, Mrs Langley was hardly above it all. She lived with six cats, and only socialized when her job teaching physics to bratty teens required her to, which had resulted in her following McKinley High's petty teenage beefs, like it was a soap opera. She'd been known to simply sit behind her desk, nose conveniently buried in a book, as her students hacked into each other with witty demeaning dis-burns.

In her classes, most often you were on your own.

She took in the image of Rachel rising to her tiptoes to slide her arms around Quinn's neck, and mused that her knowledge of the school must've been slipping. The last time she'd heard anything of the Fabray-Berry Saga, they still disliked one another. Intensely.

Mr Dodecko, just two doors down from Mrs Langley, had been under the same impression. He smiled though, internally patting himself on the back for not long ago making a seating plan that had put Rachel and Quinn right next to each other. Why, they'd so clearly bonded...

"Get outta my way, Edward Scissor Hands!" Out of nowhere, pained groans - accompanied by dull meaty thuds - began to sound out from the back of McKinley's punk clique. Each noise grew closer and closer until eventually Santana elbowed her way through to the front.

What she saw, from a distance, was Quinn smooching Rachel Berry's forehead.

Her jaw dropped, but her dark eyes quickly gleamed with cruel understanding; Quinn was fucking with Berry's head, making the ambitious little freak think that she actually... liked her?

Santana stood there and wrestled her laughter into submission; this was too juicy! Why hadn't _she_ thought of this? Not only would she have faux-romanced Treasure Trail, but she just may have taken the midget's virginity, given the right lighting and alcohol, too. She doubted that Quinn had plans to steal RuPaul's blatantly still intact virginity, because seriously? Quinn Fabray eating Berry's hot-pocket? Eating _any_ hot-pocket?

Nope.

Just nope.

Pulling her mouth away from Rachel's forehead, Quinn resisted the urge to wipe her lips off to the point that they became sore and chapped. She resisted the urge altogether, instead choosing to interlink both of her hands around Rachel's waist, like a person who felt genuine love would. "Do you like the rose?" she asked, hopeful, as if she actually cared to hear the brunette's opinion.

For the second time, Rachel took the beautiful cluster of rich red petals to her nose, and nodded. "I love it," she whispered. "Let me show you just how much..." She grinned, her lips riding up to reveal two rows of teeth, which winked rather maliciously.

That one look, from Rachel, sucker punched Quinn's heart, causing it to drop into her now anxious stomach.

Her peers knew why before she did. "O.M.G. They're actually gonna kiss!" one of them quietly exclaimed.

The lips that Quinn had long ago cursed for the unnatural stubble that supposedly grew around them rocketed towards her own - a gentle ambush. Soft, subtle, and... talented? As well as the diva danced in Glee club was how her lips ebbed and flowed; nipping, dragging, breathy, and sensual.

It took all but five seconds - which was quite a long time when one pondered it - for Quinn to frown into the swiftly developing kiss. Before tongue – specifically Treasure Trail's tongue - could become even more of a problem, she slid one of her hands up Rachel's back, and pulled back on the resistant brunette's shoulder.

_That_ had not been a part of the plan!

Kissing, especially like that, was a step four move!

Step four! And even then, Quinn had researched the several types of lip choreography that movie stars used.

Man Hands was fucking with the plan!

Fury hardened the blonde's stoic porcelain face, and Santana simply smirked from the shadows; her suspicions confirmed.

"What? Baby, w-what's wrong?" Rachel inquired, barely able to keep the tentative regret in her expression, as opposed to the satisfied grin that she wanted, so badly, to oblige. Frowning through her mirth, she cupped her mouth, smelling her own breath to add an even more repulsive factor to the situation. "I-I gargled with Fresh A-And Clean this morning."

Yes, she was a brilliant actress, able to slip in and out of characters like she did animal-fur free coats. But this was too good; she almost cracked. That horrified look in Quinn's eye was _too_ good. She doubted whether Quinn would ever be the same.

Well good! Because she, herself, would never be the same thanks to all that Quinn and her goons had put her through. She would never have her faith in people restored.

It was payback time. Time to put McKinley High's Head Cheerleader through the frustration and powerlessness that she had endured. Her fathers had always taught her that forgiveness was a powerful path to peace, and she believed them. It was. But until Quinn apologized for everything, Rachel would reserve her capacity to forgive. After all, how could you forgive someone if they were not committed to changing their offensive behaviour – not even sorry about it?

"Quinn, what's wrong?" she asked, ducking her head in apparent concern to catch those blazing hazel eyes. "Are you -"

In an effort to kick her tense body back into action, Quinn shook her head. Her tight ponytail was stern in its whipping back and forth, lashing the air like she wanted to lash Rachel. "N-Nothings wrong! Just... just - let's _not_ do this in public."

Rachel commanded her eyes to sink wistfully, and instructed her bottom lip to tremble. "Are you ashamed of me? I-I thought we were past you being ashamed of me!"

"I just gave you a rose, for everyone to see, Man -" The blonde stopped herself before the damage was done, and smoothly re-wrote the course of her words with: "Magnificent gestures of love are what you said you wanted. Well I'm trying to give that to you, despite how hard you know this is for me, and still you think that I'm ashamed of you?"

Rachel smirked, though it was little known. The cheerleader knew how to stay afloat, she'd give her that.

"Quinn," she sighed, "I'm happy that we were able to progress this far, and I love the rose. Really, I do. You make me feel so special, in spite of our past. But I just..." She bowed her head, running her thumb along the rose's velvet petals. "I just want to be able to do what every other couple does - to feel like you love me wherever we may be." Her voice had brimmed with such vulnerability.

Quinn didn't know which way was up or down.

Some of their peers looked away, feeling like they were intruding upon the intimate moment, though the vast majority were racked with aching arms as they recorded away, eager to catch it all.

If only they'd been as dedicated to their studies...

"So..." Puck drawled.

"So..." Finn repeated, not really understanding what was being asked of him at this point. He locked the equipment room door, and began to walk the hallways alongside his mohawk-sporting friend.

They'd both arrived at school extra early today - punishment for accidentally leaving football equipment out on the field after their last practice. Coach had ordered them to organize all of the sports equipment, A through Z.

It actually wasn't the rigorous and early start that bothered Finn though. He'd skipped a couple of gym sessions this week, so lifting the heavy equipment had been welcomed.

The problem was Puck.

The muscular tanned boy, who pulled up at school on a motorcycle every day, had been unusually quiet.

"Dude, why are you not - you know - talking and stuff?" Finn asked after a while.

"How do you tell a guy you're cool with that you wanna take a shot at his ex-girlfriend?" Puck countered, sort of wringing his hands.

Yeah... questions weren't really Finn's thing.

Still, he scratched his head and gave it his best shot. "What, is this like one of those metaphorical things that Mr Dodecko's always talking about?"

Puck deadpanned. There seemed to be no limit to Finn's obliviousness. "Dude, I like Quinn. I wanna ask her out."

There. He'd said it.

What was the worst that could happen?

His back met loudly with a nearby locker, Finn's fist screwed up in the neck of his shirt. "Whoa!" spiralled from his lips, as he held his hands out to the side in surrender. "I don't wanna hit you, bro, but I will. So get your hands off me."

"It was you wasn't it? You were the guy that she was talking to online behind my back!" Finn shouted, exerting himself to the point that his face purpled, and his neck strained.

Puck sighed. Was he really going to have to do this?

When Finn applied more pressure, and exhibited no intention of backing off, Puck received the answer.

He swiftly packed the pale boy's ribs full of his fist, the sound of the impact resembling that of a Steven Seagal movie.

Finn went cross-eyed, clutched his ribs, and fell into the other boy, coughing. "Fuck you," he still managed to croak out. "I know it was you."

"No, idiot!" Puck raised his voice. He shoved Finn to the side impatiently. "It wasn't me, dude. I heard that it was Sam!"

Finn glared at nothing in particular. "Sam?"

His ire gave him the strength to stand up straight, despite his throbbing ribs. He took off around the corner; Sam would be at his locker.

As he nudged his way through the unusually compact clusters of students, like somewhat of a mad man, he spotted that familiar head of girly straw-blonde hair.

Sam Evans.

Except Sam wasn't at his locker. He was at Kurt's, talking in hushed whispers as he repeatedly stole glances, like everybody else, in the direction of Rachel Berry's locker.

Finn's large feet slowed, and he frowned. What were people looking at? More importantly, what were they recording?

He spared a confused look in the direction of the apparent spectacle, and actually staggered back a little on his feet. "Fuck my life," he rasped.

The bell suddenly gonged.

It was time for first period... not that anyone would get any work done.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is a direct continuation of the last one guys. Thanks for all of the comments :D You know how to massage me ego! Sorry for any mistakes. It is early or late, and I haven't been to sleep yet.  
**

* * *

More so than usual, Finn couldn't concentrate. Miss Gilbert's smooth plump lips were moving, as she stood at the front of the classroom, but were any sounds leaving them? Fuck if he knew. Was he learning anything?

Nope.

His mind knew nothing but the intimate embrace that he'd seen his ex-girlfriend wrapped up in with none other than McKinley High's biggest loser. When they'd been McKinley's star couple, both him and Quinn had enjoyed torturing the ugly little midget on many an occasion; bonding over picking out which color slushie they were going to have thrown into her face, and coming up with demeaning nicknames that were sure to have Rachel drowning in her pillow each night.

Sam Evans was the least of Finn's problems. Quinn had gone gay... _for_ _Rachel_ _Berry_!

He had seen it with his own eyes.

The tall boy absently rubbed his aching ribs, and pondered what this meant for him. To question what was so faulty about him that he had driven the hottest girl ever into another girl's arms, much less RuPaul's arms, was natural. He couldn't help but go over every one of their past sexual encounters. Every kiss, every orgasm.

"But I made her come all the time," he quietly muttered, frowning his frustration into the desk.

During many - ok _all_ - of their sexual encounters, Quinn would always shudder, before placing a delicate but preventative hand to his shoulder. She would squirm tellingly and then tell him that they were to stop making out, because her orgasm had left her feeling overly sensitive.

In his mind he'd regularly made Quinn come from kissing only which, in terms of his ego, had more than made up for the fact that his pants had always bulged, afterwards, without promise of relief.

As soon as Miss Gilbert turned her back to the class, and began to scrawl on the blackboard, a ball of scrunched up paper soared through the air, missing Finn's head only by an inch or so. It rolled to a stop on the desk.

Somehow he imagined that the perpetrator's intention had not been to hit him, which made this ball of crumpled up paper that much more menacing.

He stared at it and gulped.

If he were to open it up, what would it say?

No more than five seconds later, the ball that had once been lay flattened out on the desk, save a few defiant crinkled corners.

The message was clear to see.

_Looks like you weren't man enough to keep Man Hands away from your girl. Lmao! Rachel probably just has a bigger dick than you, Finnpotent! ;)_

Heat bubbled, popped, and gurgled sourly in Finn's stomach. Unable to take it, he tossed a furious glance over his shoulder, scowling at the back row of overly innocent faces. "Have some balls and say it to my face!" he growled at them with maddened eyes.

Not one expression twitched.

"Is there a problem Mr Hudson?" Miss Gilbert suddenly asked, turning around to shine her full attention on Finn.

Yes.

Yes, there was a problem.

Finn knew that he had to get Quinn to come back to him; he couldn't stand to think that Rachel's dick was bigger than his. But he also knew that before he could even consider trying to put his wooing foot forward, he was going to need some answers.

And he wasn't the only one...

Quinn was going to need some freaking answers too, and she was going to get them come hell or high water!

She paced the murky out-of-bounds toilets on tense legs, back and forth. Back and forth. Waiting. Her chin still dripped a little with the water that she'd rigorously washed her lips off with. There was no way that she was going to be able to eat her lunch and keep it down now. Not after that fiasco earlier.

Man Hands had crossed the line; Quinn didn't know what kind of rage her trembling pale hands were going to take on once the brunette finally did show up.

She wanted nothing more than to scream until the tendons in her neck popped, but she didn't want to draw any attention, or to have to clean up the mess. She'd had the parameters of her space violated - her plan compromised.

It just couldn't fly. She was Quinn Fabray. When she told people to jump, they were supposed to ask how high, and then ask if she wanted their lunch money too…

Upon her late arrival, Rachel didn't have her feet in the room two seconds before Quinn had snatched the neck of her Argyle sweater, and flung her up against the wall, holding her there.

"Listen, freak!" the blonde sneered, ripping the bow from Rachel's head band and tossing it, "the shenanigans stop now! Do you hear me? I told you that if you fucked this up, there would be dire consequences. I wasn't kidding! **Stop** fucking with me!"

The unmoved brunette simply clicked her tongue, and sighed as if disappointed. She cast blasé eyes down towards her discarded bow and then looked, head on, at her pretty tormenter. "Is this any way to treat your girlfriend?" she mocked the other girl. "Our future children are most definitely going to hear about your violent outbursts -"

Quinn, having heard enough of Treasure Trail's ridiculousness, pressed her palm over Rachel's mouth. The immediate silence was music for her soul. "You're supposed to sit with me in the cafeteria, but now I don't know about that because you're a-a..." Her hands flailed around in such frenzy; she didn't even know which word she was looking for. "A fucking liability! Why can't you just do as you're told?"

Rachel merely blinked, maintaining her silence. Not that she could say anything anyway, with the cheerleader's hand clamped over her lips.

"Why did you kiss me? That wasn't in act one of the script that I gave you!" the blonde growled, reluctantly dragging her palm away from the brunette's mouth. Unfortunately, answers were more important than the luxury of silence.

"I don't like you, Quinn," Rachel answered at the drop of a hat. "I'm going to make this entire thing as arduous, for you, as I can. It's just a bit of fun; _surely_ you can understand. Does that adequately answer your question?" She pushed past the blonde, without needing a response, and headed over to the triad of sinks, from where she regarded her own reflection in the mirror, and fixed the wild strands of hair that had sprung loose when she'd lost her bow.

It wasn't as if Quinn needed to ask Rachel why she disliked her, but she still found herself wanting to...

"Well if you hate me so much, why would you kiss me like that? _I'd_ sooner crack you in that hideous nose than kiss _you_... like that!"

"Note that I didn't say that I hated you," Rachel pointed out, fetching a comb from her bag. "But, yes, I hate you enough to put you through having to kiss me. But let us not act like you weren't pleasantly surprised by it. P.S: I hope you know that you'll be required to buy me a new head band, to replace the one that you just needlessly destroyed."

Quinn folded her arms, scoffing incredulously as realization cast a whole new light on the kissing situation. "Oh my God. You're just like every other asshole in this joint; you want a piece of me. You _wanted_ to kiss me," she gleaned.

Rachel giggled, maybe even snorting a few times, as she preened her hair in the shiny silver surface. "Yes, because being called a freak and a tranny makes me _so_ wet," she retorted, deadpanning. "Might I add: it's very interesting that you view those that find you attractive to be assholes. I wonder what that says about what you think and how you feel about yourself."

Quinn had sort of zoned out. She could only think about that kiss - how sensual and soft it had been. There was no way that there had been nothing in it. And what about the manner in which Rachel had gazed at her? Nobody was _that_ good of an actress without having had professional training.

Everyone found Quinn terribly attractive. In fact that had been the story of her life – people fawning all over her and giving her whatever she wanted simply because of her aesthetics. She'd been using her looks to her advantage since the moment that her father had first caved; handing her that pack of gummy bears when she'd fluttered her long lashes at the ripe age of four.

Rachel was open-minded, had gay parents, and never talked about boys...

It all made perfect sense.

Quinn grew convinced, and just like she did with everybody else's Achilles' heel, she deviously sought to use Rachel's apparent crush against her.

Cat-like, her bone-white Cheerio pumps pattered soundlessly towards the unsuspecting brunette, who had busied herself with perfecting a stray eyebrow hair in the mirror. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," she breathed, hot and close, into Rachel's ear. "All you have to do is cooperate, and whatever you want – I'll do it."

Rachel, stunned into literal silence, merely peered at the reflection of the surreal events that seemed to be taking place. The picture stared back at her in all of its solidity, no matter which angle her eyes scrambled to consume it from. She realized that it wasn't going to go away – that this was truly happening.

When the blonde gently hovered her hand over Rachel's shoulder, the shorter girl's eyes popped.

Surely Quinn wasn't _this_ desperate to get back on top of that prestigious McKinley High mountain. It wasn't even like she'd tumbled that far down. She had maybe a bruise or two, but nothing that should warrant such repulsive and undignified behaviour!

Rachel was absolutely horrified, and it wasn't long before the maddening sensation of anger descended down upon her form, like red dust blown from an evil witch's lumpy lips. All Quinn had to do was apologize! Simple. Yet she thought it more acceptable to offer her body up in exchange for cooperation, instead of just saying sorry?

"There are so many things wrong with this picture, that I don't even know where to begin!" Rachel spat, suddenly shrugging Quinn's touch away. She stuffed her comb back into her bag, zipped it swift and tight, and turned around, looking like she was getting ready to leave.

Quinn wasn't the Head Cheerleader for nothing. She sprang back gracefully, blocking the door before any such thing could happen. "Where do you think you're going? We're not done here!"

"We're done when I say we're done!" Rachel argued, jabbing her thumb back towards her own chest with authority. "At this present moment, I own you Quinn! I could tell the entire school what it is that we're doing, and everybody would believe me because through that pretty little facade of yours, everybody knows that you're a self-loathing, insecure, control freak, who will do absolutely anything to be on top again!"

The truth always seemed to pack a punch like no other. The pain of said blow was the fuel behind Quinn winding her hand back, and poising it for a thunderous introduction to the disrespectful brunette's cheek.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Go ahead! Slap me, Quinn! Then you can go home at the end of the day and wallow in self-pity, scolding yourself for being such an awful person. I see you, Quinn Fabray. I know that the self-pity and the self-loathing is just an excuse – classic self-fulfilling prophecy, which just allows you to be an awful person day after day after day without you having to do a damn thing about it, because you've already made up your mind that you're an awful person! Well congratulations!" she raised her voice, waving her hands around manically in mock celebration. "Congratulations; you've just offered to more or less sell your body to me to get your own way, when all I've _ever_ wanted was a sincere apology from you, so that I could release the resentment that I feel for your past actions. You're right, as usual. You _are_ an awful person!"

She brought her hands together, clapping miserably. But she was more than aware of the fact that there was nothing to celebrate; nobody had won here.

"Hopefully one of these days you'll develop the fortitude to do something about the reprehensible way you treat other people, in order to fill the gaping void that exist within yourself." Rachel sighed, feeling somewhat spent as the last remnants of her anger seeped out of her mouth. "I don't want to spend another second in your toxic presence. So if you'll kindly remove yourself from the door, I'll leave."

Under the weight of Rachel's many words, Quinn's hand slowly lowered until it dangled lifelessly down by her red and white Cheerio's skirt.

She couldn't hide, because Rachel had seen her and she was seeing her right now. Even though Rachel had made it clear that a sincere apology was what she'd been after this whole time, Quinn realized that she had no idea what to do. Her entire life was about this beautiful manipulative character that she sent out into the world for the purpose of playing human chess. Her parents, Russell and Judy Fabray, were exactly the same, and as a result they hadn't taught their daughter to be comfortable with just being herself. They hadn't taught her that it was most often the participation that mattered, and not the perfection of winning.

"I don't want to have to ask you again, Quinn. Please move so that I can leave."

"I'm not moving. You're gonna shut up and listen to me."

Rachel rubbed her face wearily. Had none of what she'd just said sunken in?

Quinn's jaw twitched. She put her hands on her hips and then dropped them again, sighing.

The brunette frowned, watching her clearly uncomfortable tormenter studiously. "Say whatever it is that you've got to say. I would like to eat something _this_ lunch time," she pushed after a few seconds of strange quiet.

Quinn glared. "Didn't I just tell you to shut up and listen to me? 'Cause I could have sworn that I did."

Rachel sighed. She liked to think that she would never use physical force, but hunger did strange things to people. There were no guarantees in life, unless you had a voice like hers and your dream was Broadway, of course.

"I, I wasn't actually going to… do anything with you," Quinn finally grated out, not daring to look the other girl in the eye.

Rachel had never heard her sound or look so meek. It was disconcerting, like a sign that something was off-kilter in the great cosmos or something. She understood what was being said to her, despite the scant elaboration. But she wasn't sure she believed that Quinn would not have gone through with… whatever it was that she, herself, may have proposed in the way of sexual favors. And that was frightening.

It was a big ugly red flag!

"I hope that's the truth, Quinn. We're all worth more than that."

"I'm sorry."

At the sound of those abrupt words, Rachel's breath caught in her throat.

For all of her hope, over the years, she never actually thought that she would hear those words uttered from Quinn Fabray's lips. A slow-burning smile tugged her cheeks up, however tentatively. "What are you apologizing for?" she gently pushed, wanting to take everything that she could whilst the cheerleader was in this open state of mind.

Quinn pursed her lips and returned her hands to her hips, drawing strength from the classic Cheerio stance. "You're going to be annoying about this, aren't you?" she asked, though something about her voice was tinged with an almost undetectable plea.

"I know when to be serious," Rachel reassured her with a comedically dutiful nod of the head, and a big grin. "What are you sorry for?"

"Firstly, I'm not sorry for calling you annoying. You are annoying, and you know you are. So are your clothes. **But**… deep down I know that that doesn't give me, or my _goons_, license to terrorize you. That is what I'm apologizing for. The slushies are fucked up. So are the nicknames, and… I'm fucked up for thinking of them in the first place," Quinn somewhat quietly admitted, a wince flickering in and out of her pale forehead. She sighed, and looked Rachel in the eye once and for all. "Look, I'm never going to be your biggest fan, and you're never going to be mine! But we can operate under mutual… respect."

"I… I honestly don't know what to say." The brunette didn't like to think that she'd been relying on someone else's apology to reclaim a small portion of her happiness back. But essentially, she sort of had been.

"You might as well delete the insurance that you have on me. The bullying stops, regardless of how our deal goes."

Rachel scoffed, though it was somewhat light-hearted. "I have accepted your apology, Quinn. But I haven't even begun to forgive you yet. Not to push my luck, but that is going to take time and proof of your regret. I don't trust you. However heartfelt this apology may seem, it could be just another one of your ruses. Because of that I have concluded that it would be stupid of me to delete the insurance at this point in time. But that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the apology, because I really do."

Quinn smirked inside. She was still much too uncomfortable with the outward submission of her dominance to laugh, or smile, or smirk. But she would always appreciate someone who was sharp-minded, even if she was too competitive to tell them most of the time.

Rachel chewed the inside of her cheek and then offered her hand out. "Well, that's our first big lover's tiff out of the way. Now that I've accepted your apology, because you're clearly the guy in this relationship, I am ready to let you be my beloved once more," she chirped, attempting to make light of the heavy air that had fallen around them.

Quinn didn't take the shorter girl's hand. She would do so when she absolutely had to. That, and she was annoyed by the brunette's dramatics. "I hope you're not expecting me to laugh at your lame little jokes now, just because I've apologized to you."

"If you want people to ship us together, as Faberry, you had better find my jokes funny by the time we reach the cafeteria."

"That better not be a portmanteau of our names," Quinn griped, completely unamused as she yanked open the door. Now wasn't the time for jokes or laughter. In fact she just wanted to go home and recover from the trauma of feeling so utterly exposed and vulnerable.

But recuperation was going to have to wait until the mandatory, false, loved-up smiles had passed.

Both girls ignored Jewfrow's insistent pleas for an interview upon exiting the out-of-bounds toilets, and headed to the cafeteria hand in hand, where they sought to further cement the idea of Faberry in everybody's mind. They sat close to one another, faux-giggling at nothing in particular and whispering static into each other's ears whilst Rachel ate.

Finn's food went untouched. So did Puck's. For the most part everyone's plate did.

Santana's teeth were one of the only sets that could be heard tearing into meat; her lips slurping obnoxiously around a straw. There would be time to grill the Head Cheerleader about Berry once Berry wasn't around, but until then the Latina was going to eat until she was bursting at the seams…

* * *

Quinn's intention had been to arrive home at the end of the school day, and crash until morning. But later that evening, she somehow found herself online ordering an expensive yet obnoxious head band, with a garish blue bow sewn into it.


	5. Chapter 5

**I must apologize for the delay. Maybe some of you guys would like to chew my boss a new asshole? Lol Again, thanks for the generous comments. I have had myself in stitches when writing some of the dialogue, so I am happy that you guys seem to get something out of it too. Pardon any mistakes.  
**

* * *

Hiram's face twitched, lingering mid-frown as he felt the familiar rush of an oncoming sneeze prickle hot in his nostrils. He quickly reached across the dark wooden table that he was sat at – his handkerchief becoming a germy mess of mucus before he could even think about it.

Hoarse and delirious were his groans; he sniffled and cupped his forehead, feeling it pound with the flu that had been going around at work. His co-workers were very lucky that the virus had rendered him weak and useless. If not, he would have been at the office giving them all a PowerPoint presentation about the importance of proper hygiene in working the environment.

No bother.

He would just use his time off to prepare one. Either way, his co-workers were going to hear that darn presentation!

The sound of his daughter's footsteps pattered somewhere close behind him, coming to an easy stop as her hand soothed down the length of his back.

He groaned.

"That bad huh?" she cooed with a sympathetic click of the tongue. "I really want to feel sorry for you, because you're my father and I love you – and when I'm sick you offer to watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta with me, even though you'd rather stick pins in your eyes. But!" she stressed, regaining her focus, "you can't complain; if you would just eat as consciously as dad and I do, your immune system would not have failed you so dramatically."

Hiram managed a wry smile. "Well good morning to you too, honey," he croaked stuffily, though the sarcasm that slickened his tongue existed prominently enough to offend even the walls.

Stood behind him, Rachel grew to smirk. She hugged her father's feverish head close to her own, without any fear whatsoever of becoming infected. Their bond was stronger than any pesky flu virus. That, and her healthy diet looked after her. Why? Because _she_ looked after her diet. The relationship that she had with her body never wavered, which was one of the reasons why she had been so taken aback when Quinn had offered to…

"That car outside – it was there yesterday morning too. Do you know anything about it?" Hiram suddenly asked, daring to gather the strength to frown up at his daughter.

They lived in a charming neighborhood, but he still deemed it imperative to be conscientious. Nobody wanted a repeat of the bacon-scented toilet roll fiasco. Would the Lima Police Department ever get off of their lazy asses and find the culprits? Hiram sincerely doubted it.

Rachel peered out of the front window. There were a whole row of cars lining the curb, however Quinn's vehicle was the only one that didn't belong, and it had been parked outside yesterday morning too. She watched the cheerleader sit in her car; the blonde nibbled her nails as she waited.

"That's Quinn. You have nothing to be worried about as far as alerting the neighborhood watch," Rachel clarified. "She's going to be picking me up every morning for the foreseeable future."

After delivering a quick peck to Hiram's cheek she left his side, grabbing her bag, and slipping into her Penny Loafers.

"So now that I can rule out my suspicion of your involvement with the Mafia," Hiram quipped," may I ask who _Quinn_ is?"

Rachel had secured her hand around the front door's handle, but she refrained going anywhere; her father's question had piqued a multitude of different possible responses. The rush of data that entered her mind had momentarily halted her lips.

"I'm going to say that Quinn is… a potential friend," she eventually answered, cautious yet optimistic.

With consideration for his aching body, Hiram slowly pushed out of his chair and shuffled towards the window, where he fingered a few slats in the blinds back…

Something twitched in Quinn's peripheral vision, and when she glanced at Rachel's house, it quickly became apparent that somebody was messing with the blinds. Stealthy and James Bond-like, she slowly scooted down in her seat until she could no longer see out of her window. If she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her right? She didn't ever want to have to deal with Rachel's fathers if she could help it. One Berry was poisonous enough.

A slow-burning smirk eased on into Hiram's lips as he let the slats fall naturally amongst the others. "A potential friend? Is she your… girlfriend?" he probed hopefully, ignoring the rising tickle in his throat. Coughing could wait; this was too good. "Your taste in girls is pristine. From what I saw she was very beautiful, even as she was sliding down in her seat so that I wouldn't see her."

An amused scoff puffed out of Rachel's mouth. "Despite what I am certain this looks like, daddy, that girl is not my girlfriend. Not even close!"

Hiram deadpanned, clearly not impressed with his daughter's serious lack of game. "Well you better get working on it. I'm a shallow gay man, and I want an extraordinarily pretty grandchild from each of you. Hopefully she'll be over her fear of meeting Leroy and I by then."

"Well, I have already gotten her to pick me up and take me to school in the mornings," Rachel chuckled, deciding to indulge in the lunacy of it all, because why not? Life was dreary when you didn't goof around. "Next we'll be sexting, and complaining because we don't have anywhere private to exercise our pent-up sexual frustrations. I seriously fear that, in my haste, I'll harm her once we finally do find somewhere – most likely the back seat of her car, which I hear is rated five stars."

Hiram blanched; his mouth globbing shut.

Rachel smirked, and fluttered her eyelashes impishly behind a smart-ass little wave of the hand. "I love you daddy, and get well soon! Bye."

The front door suddenly swung open, and then rattled shut against the breeze that had tried to rush in.

"L-Love you too, honey," he told it…

The moment that Rachel sunk down into the passenger seat of Quinn's car and shut the breeze out, a shiny pink bag dropped into her lap.

She studied it and then looked at Quinn, who merely drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, silent.

"Morning Quinn."

"Open the bag."

"Why?"

That caught Quinn's attention; the brunette was being cautious because she didn't trust her. She stopped drumming her pale fingers. "Because I spent a lot of money to have it delivered to my house this morning."

Rachel made a face. She reluctantly accepted that she wasn't going to get much more than that out of the cheerleader, and was forced - in the end - to conclude that the bag was safe.

She took the handles and opened it up, peeking inside. Her eyes immediately warmed and twinkled as they devoured the pretty blue head band that gleamed up at her. Nothing that she could have done would've stopped the grin that came barrelling through her expression.

Not that she wanted to stop it.

"This is a beautiful replacement, Quinn," she awed, eagerly plucking the accessory from the bag and sliding it into her hair, where it sat - a compliment to the tone of her tan skin. A chuckle floated prettily from her lips as she gently lifted so that she could ponder her reflection in the rear-view mirror. And boy did she ponder it; pulling some of the most absurd faces at herself that Quinn had ever seen.

But in the spirit of the mutual respect that they had both agreed upon, Quinn looked the other way, managing to ignore just how irksome some of the ridiculous faces were - particularly the one where the aspiring Broadway star sucked her cheeks in and regarded herself from the left, and then the right.

"I did say that I would have you whipped and trained by the end of the week, didn't I? Not even two days, and you're already buying me gifts. I must be a better girlfriend than I thought," Rachel pointed out, smug.

Her twinkling deep brown eyes slowly abandoned the mirror, and mischievously descended towards Quinn...

Over the last couple of days, the Head Cheerleader had regrettably learned _that_ look.

"If you hug me, be prepared to pull back bloody stubs where your arms used to be. I'm not over the way you spoke to me yesterday, and I'm not in the mood for any of your shenanigans today," she said sternly. But her tone hadn't been cruel by any stretch of the imagination, and considering the secret that was burdening her life at the moment - the one that she could no longer ignore - she considered that to be an amazing feat.

Sufficiently scolded, Rachel rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat - though her positive disposition remained. "I could apologize, Quinn. But I am not going to, because I didn't tell you anything that you didn't need to hear. Think of the way you're now feeling as a crack, and without cracks the light can't get in. Life is about how you choose to look at things."

"And what, _you're_ supposed to be the light? No…" Quinn shook her head; her eyes glazed and far away. "You're the darkness. Voldemort types of darkness."

"Speaking of Harry Potter," Rachel chirped, "I've comprised a list of things that we should go through together if we want to make our relationship seem real beyond steamy kisses in the hallway. Favorite movies, the story about how we fell for one another…"

Quinn shot the brunette a searing glare. She didn't need to be reminded of that kiss, much less be mocked about it.

Not today.

Well, not any day. But especially not today.

Her hand white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

Rachel's eyes obliviously followed the width of the A4 paper that she had taken out of her bag. "We must, like you said, take some pictures to create a history for our relationship," she read aloud. "I'll use one of them as a screensaver on my phone, and you should perhaps put one up on your Facebook profile; I've already sent you a friend request. Before I forget, we should exchange cell phone numbers too, just in case we should ever need to contact one another in or out of school."

The glove compartment suddenly sprung open as a result of Quinn bashing it, one good time, with her palm. Ignorant to the fact that her actions had made Rachel jump, she snatched her phone out from amongst all the other crap that she kept in there, and began to thumb its touch-sensitive screen. "Give me your number and I'll text you."

Rachel couldn't stop her forehead from pinching; something was off.

She understood that Quinn wasn't her friend. They didn't help one another out when life-changing events hit, and they were not ears for one another in times of profound emotional need. But the aspiring Broadway star considered herself to be a good person, and a good person could recognize when another was in dire straits and offer a hand, which was exactly what she had decided she was going to do.

The list within her hand swiftly folded in on itself under the force of her petite hands, ending up in her bag no more than two seconds later. From there Rachel clasped both hands in her lap. "Is everything ok, Quinn? There seems to be this semi-aggressive yet gravely dejected air about you, and whilst I would usually feel most comfortable annoying you with my somewhat unusual quirks - as it has become one of my favorite pastimes - today I feel as though I must walk on egg-shells, which is never good because I am somebody who needs to express themselves freely."

"Yeah? Well walking on egg-shells is a good look for you. Now what's your number?"

"My number is one, two, three, four; what is the sour face for?" Rachel chanted, blinking sheer defiance at the blonde.

...

"Five, six, seven, eight; open up and conversate," she added, sluggishly punching the air with her fists like a cheerleader, once she realized that Quinn wasn't going to budge.

Owlish and stubborn were her eyes as they blinked. Waiting.

"Ok. Now you're irritating me. Keep this up and I'm taking that head band back," Quinn threatened, though her voice severely lacked its usual bite.

Still, Rachel wasn't about to take any chances. Whether she was conscious of it or not, she pushed the accessory further down into her hair and had her hand stand guard over it for a while. "If the things that I said to you yesterday are the problem, know that sometimes pain is necessary for growth. You, especially, have played a large hand in teaching me that. Yesterday I simply returned the favor."

Quinn sighed, her shoulders sagging with every weary bit of breath that she expelled out through her nostrils. But her lips remained sealed, never so much as twitching.

So, ever the tenacious one, Rachel tried an alternative route. "Due to the fact that you have been making my life difficult for the last few years, you do not know me. You don't know that I am a very trust-worthy person once won over," she explained, stating the facts. "I am also relatively skilled in reading other people, as your harsh experiences with me yesterday revealed to you. Whilst you do not yet deserve my compassion or my concern you have it anyway, simply because I'm sensing that you could do with it, and I do not know how to be anybody else. I don't give up, Quinn. So you might as well just confide in me, and save us both the blood, sweat, and tears – all of which will, of course, come from you - because if you thought me to be annoying before, you haven't seen _anything_ -"

"I think I'm pregnant," Quinn interrupted, gazing down at her fingers glumly.

Her quiet confession echoed in the stillness…

It was out now, and there was no taking it back.

She slowly turned her head to look the silenced diva in the eye, and saw every fear that she had for herself reflected back at her in those widening brown orbs.

"Oh," Rachel echoed. Had they been out in nature, the wind would have easily carried the slight utterance away.

She hadn't really been expecting Quinn to give in so easily; she was almost just as stunned by that as she was by the confession itself.

Quinn was fully aware of the daunting fact that she'd just told Rachel Berry her biggest secret yet. She was also aware of the fact that Rachel could have it serve as ammunition in their seemingly never-ending struggle for dominance. But what did she have to lose? If she was pregnant, which she was pretty certain that she was, everything was going to go to shit anyway. She was going to lose everything; Head Cheerleader, more popularity, her freedom, her abs – and what would her parents say? What would they **do**?

She shuddered only slight, but the robotic manner in which her blizzard-like eyes twitched, as she gazed vacantly through the windshield, spoke paragraphs of her bone-chilling anxiety.

It was that look from Quinn, specifically, that let Rachel know that she was going to have to go ahead and take the reins in this situation.

The cheerleader then rather dramatically – although not at all, given the situation that she was in – cupped her face in both hands, and leaned forward against the steering wheel with a quiet clunk. "My life is _ruined_, and all for forty seconds of supposed fun that I was too drunk to even remember!" she murmured bitterly.

"Yes well…" Rachel muttered, her top lip slowly turning up in stunned disgust, "I think we all knew that Finn wasn't one for stamina."

"Finn?" Quinn shrieked, abruptly coming out from behind her hands.

It was laugh or cry at this point; she chuckled manically, her hazel eyes becoming a shaken snow globe of maddened mirthless irony. "I never had sex with Finnept! The kid isn't his!"

Rachel couldn't say that she was surprised. Of all the things that she knew about Quinn Fabray, could she really have expected the blonde to have been faithful to Finn? Hardly. There had been rumors that Sam Evans had been romancing her behind Finn's back, but honestly who knew?

Rachel didn't, and quite frankly she didn't care.

There were more pressing issues at hand right now, like finding out whether or not there was a baby growing in Quinn's stomach at all!

"Have you taken a pregnancy test?" she prompted, encouraging the wheels of practicality in her mind to get grinding. She was already considering the possibility of skipping school, and picking up a pregnancy test kit from the local pharmacy. Quinn would take it, and then they would deal with the results accordingly - maybe even making it to school in time for third period.

Quinn grouched out a click of the tongue. A pregnancy test? Why wasn't Rachel grasping the magnitude of this?

"What do you think?" she barked rather excessively. "Everybody in this bumblefuck town knows my dad. Buying a pregnancy test would have just gotten me kicked out of my house!"

"Be that as it may, Quinn, you now have a pseudo girlfriend, who has no qualms about walking into a store and purchasing a pregnancy test," Rachel pointed out, adopting a cunning grin. She sat quiet, and allowed the frenzied blonde time to work the equation out for herself.

Not that she had to wait long.

Realization was quick to iron out the pained wrinkles in Quinn's forehead, allowing for a much more delicate emotion to settle in.

But for as quickly as her heart had warmed it had iced over again.

She adjusted in her seat and glared Rachel down, watching carefully for anything that would give the brunette's ulterior motive away. "Why would you offer to do this for me? I _know_ you hate me! What's your angle?"

The taste of such harsh rejection had Rachel scoff and look away. She shrugged a shoulder. "What other reason would I need, other than the fact that you're my girlfriend and I love you?"

"Seriously?" Quinn seethed, trying her darnedest to keep her cool.

Like that was going to work.

"This isn't a fucking joke, Rachel!" the cheerleader erupted, thumping the steering wheel with a closed fist. "This is my fucking life!" she yelled, flailing her hands about; the car rocked with the turbulence of it all.

Rachel had the grace to feel a little bit bad about her poorly-timed sarcasm, but that didn't omit the fact that Quinn's skepticism was beginning to grate on her. If one of them had cause to doubt the other, it was _her_!

Not Quinn!

"I am not you, Quinn Fabray!" she raised her voice, batting her soft curtain of brown hair back off of her shoulder in one firm motion. Posture erect, lips taught; she continued: "You don't make any moves unless they benefit _you_! Well I'm not like _you_!" she reiterated, stressing it. "To have my thoughtfulness questioned is a grave insult, especially when you have done nothing to earn it! I apologize for acting with compassion and kindness; it won't happen again! Now drive, before I miss Mr Schue. I have a few things that I would like to discuss with him before the bell."

"No - wait!" Quinn scrambled to say. Her shoulders regretfully sagged back against her seat; the last remnants of suspicion leaving her. "I'm sorry. I…"

Rachel regarded the other girl, waiting.

But Quinn just sighed. Apparently she was having some difficulty.

"What are you trying to say?" Rachel pushed, stern as a whip.

"I need -" The blonde stopped herself; Quinn Fabray wasn't supposed to _need_ anything. She rolled her eyes, and sniffed as if to muster up the wherewithal to say what needed to be said. "I don't want you to recede… your offer. I have to find out if I'm… expecting," she mumbled, casting the brunette dim honey eyes that plead beneath the surface.

But fuck if Rachel was going to let her get off that easily without offering a few pearls of wisdom. "You have some serious trust issues, and that is most likely because you're constantly pitting yourself against others. Yes, some people are out to get you in life, but the majority are not. It is up to us to learn to distinguish whose intentions are pure!"

Quinn's jaw tightened. "**Stop** analyzing me, Rachel!"

"Well then stop pissing me off!"

"Rachel," Quinn growled, wanting to grab the brunette's shoulders and shake her into a coma, "I'm scared out of my fucking mind right now!" she shouted, though her voice had grown weak, hoarse, and whiny towards the end. "**Back** the **fuck** **off**!"

All indignation withered from Rachel's eyes, her frown slowly retreating. She simmered down and leaned the side of her head against the cool window.

Both girls simply sat there, silent…

Rachel suddenly cleared her throat. "Never mind school; we'll drive to the local pharmacy," she softly spoke. "I'll go in and purchase the test, whilst you wait in the car outside. I'm assuming that your parents both work during the day, so we will go back to your house, because my father is at home sick today. You'll take the test and we'll… go from there." She cleared her throat again, never once looking at the blonde.

Quinn expelled a barely noticeable sigh of relief, rubbed her hand over her weary paled face, and cranked the key in the ignition.

School, Finn, Cheerios?

All three were going to have to wait...

Parked up across the street from the pharmacy, Quinn kept her head low as she ransacked her bag.

Where the fuck was that purse?

After going through every compartment again she reluctantly stilled, muttering a defeated, "shit."

Having read the situation, Rachel twisted in her seat and reached into her own bag, from where she took out her Funny Girl purse. "I'll buy it, and you can pay me back when you get the chance," she suggested, promptly jutting open her door and stepping out.

The car gently rocked when the door slammed shut, but Quinn didn't feel a thing...

She stared, wistfully, after the girl that she had bullied long after she'd vanished through those pharmacy doors, and despite the glaring fact that there was nobody there to hear it, she ducked her chin to her sternum and whispered a broken, "thank you, Rachel."

She must've spent at least two minutes just staring into the centre of the steering wheel, dazed. Hypnotic images of slushies splattering hard into Rachel's face swirled, almost mocking, behind her eyes. Try as she might, nothing seemed to be getting rid of the most harrowing clip. The one where Rachel's entire body would seize up tense once the ice cold treat slapped her face.

_Bzzt_!

Quinn flinched at the sound, immediately closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her chest once she realized that she'd just gotten a text message. After taking a moment to steady her breathing, she swallowed and grabbed her phone from where it lay in her bag.

Apparently there were two new messages that she'd neglected to open.

She sighed; scattered didn't even begin to describe the way that she was feeling today.

From Santana: _You're such a bitch for what you're doing to RuPaul. I fucking love it! You gots to fill me in on how long you've been hatching this plan ;) Where you at? Coach is pissed. She actually looks like she's getting ready to go into labor! xoxo Gossip Girl lol!_

From Finn: _I want us to get back together. Can we talk?  
_

When Quinn slipped her phone back into her bag, Finn's text message was the one that stuck with her.

Finn wanted her back.

No, he hadn't yet come crawling back to her on his hands and knees like she had wanted, but it would come – Quinn was sure – because Finn Hudson was an idiot. So much of an idiot that he had repeatedly bought the orgasms that she'd poorly acted her way through whenever they had made out.

Nevertheless, her elevator ride back up to unblemished popularity wasn't jamming anymore, which meant that only three more steps of the plan remained. Her face should have cracked with one of her famous smirks at the realization. Yet she was sat outside of the local pharmacy, feeling like her world was about to come crashing down from its axis…

She watched, miserably, as the wind picked up around her car. The invisible fist bullied around piles of leaves, rolled children on bikes away from their parents, and harassed young women into placing a hand to their heads to keep their hair from clawing at their eyes.

Then there was Rachel, whom the wind may have flung flat up against the vehicle's side if it were not for the determined strides that she took as she walked out of the pharmacy. She clutched the pregnancy test box close to her body, fearing that nature's rambunctious breath would rip it from her grasp if she did not.

Seconds later she was sliding into the passenger seat with a traumatized: "Good Lord!"

Like a flame in the dark, the pregnancy test box that rested within Rachel's grasp drew Quinn's eye – more specifically the little picture that depicted a lady cooing down at a baby. _That_ was going to be her. Abortion was not an option. Her faith, as tenuous as it was, wouldn't allow it.

Seeing that box – it made the idea of her becoming a teenage mother concrete.

Her pale nostrils flared as she slowly swallowed.

Quinn Fabray had never known fear like this…

The Fabray home wasn't anything like Rachel expected it to be. For some reason she'd imagined quaint floral sofas, and a wine bar. The reality, in her mind, was less pleasant; cold angular frames bordered the photos that lined the walls, and the sofas were much more reminiscent of something from an edgy minimalist art gallery. The impersonal silence that rang loud, as she squirmed to get comfortable on the hard sofa, was a constant reminder of what it was that she was doing in such a foreign space.

She had given Quinn the pregnancy test and then the blonde had left on noticeably stringy legs, disappearing off into the bathroom down the hall.

It had been at least two minutes since then, and if the things that Rachel thought she knew about home pregnancy tests were correct, there would be a result in two minutes or so…

Antsy, she checked her wristwatch in intervals, waiting for a squeal, or a groan, or a muffled crash – anything!

But none of those came.

Just the gentle click of the bathroom door…

At the sound of the noise, Rachel jumped up to her feet and angled her neck so that she could peer down the open hallway.

Truthfully she had been quite nervous for her tormentor. To imagine herself in such a situation caused her unbearable discomfort. And her parents _were_ supportive. Going by that which she'd heard about the Fabray's, Quinn turning up pregnant would be, well - she dreaded to think.

"Quinn?" she called.

...

Rachel thumbed some hair behind her ear, and tentatively followed the steps that she had seen the nervous blonde take. She ended up stood in the bathroom doorway, where she silently watched Quinn discreetly dabbing at her eyes with a bunched up sheet of toilet roll. Maybe she should have been happy about seeing her tormentor in such a state, but this broken image of despair did nothing to grant her satisfaction. In fact, sympathy stooped her eyebrows in towards one another. But she didn't utter a word - wanting to give the other girl enough space to digest the bad news.

Quinn sniffled, tossed the sodden tissue at the chrome trashcan, and turned around.

Both girls stilled, tensing as their eyes met in one of those rare moments that seemed to forego all time and space.

But when a smile ghosted in close and quietly touched Quinn's red mottled cheeks, Rachel knew that she'd mistaken happy tears for sad...

Despite the good news, neither girl mentioned school. They'd settled down on the sofas opposite one another; Quinn with a sheet of tissue paper clutched in her clasp. Far from awkward was the silence; it billowed an air of peace and imploring reflection.

"I'm not going to forget today, Rachel," Quinn suddenly spoke; soft and delicate. She shifted her legs and pulled a knee up to her chin, wrapping her arms around it. "I swear!" she stressed, peering across at the other girl sincerely. "I'm not going to forget it."

Rachel's cheeks rode up with a smile. She had never seen such humility from Quinn before. The blonde wore it well, she decided. It beautified her features, and humanized her in the most delicate and majestic way. But she wouldn't point that out, because Quinn already seemed to be quite uncomfortable with the acquiescence of her mask as it was.

"I just want my fifteen dollars back, and all will be good," she decided to quip, in an effort to be the light that cast away the intensity in the room.

Quinn ducked her head and managed a small smirk. Her hands still trembled slightly, and she was exhausted. But on the bright side; her ordeal was over. She wasn't carrying Noah Puckerman's kid, Finn wanted her back, and she would only have to carry on with this dating ruse for a little while longer before she could return to the top of McKinley High's social ladder. Then she could show Rachel just how much she had appreciated the support today, even if there had been a few hiccups along the way. Everything was going to be alright...

With that thought her mind cleared, allowing room for the list of to-dos that Rachel had approached her with earlier.

"We should probably take those pictures whilst we're here," she proposed, sniffing away the lingering tears that, despite her dry eyes, lay dormant in her nose. "And your number - give me your number."

But was Rachel was even listening? The shorter girl seemed to be some place else - somewhere in her head. "Rachel -"

"It was Puck, wasn't it?" the brunette gently put out there, remembering the way that Noah had longingly stared after the Head Cheerleader in the cafeteria yesterday.

Quinn's eyes jarred with panic, which only served to confirm Rachel's hunch.

"Relax. I'm not going to tell anyone, Quinn." She smiled as reassuringly as she could. "But Finn, Sam, _and_ Puck? I would drop at least one. All that dick will cause problems for a chick." After replaying that comment back in her head, Rachel's neck shrunk into her shoulders with her abrupt wince. Why had that sounded so darn judgmental?

"And all Broadway and no play makes Rachel gay; don't think I haven't noticed that you never show any interest in boys," Quinn countered - a natural reflex. She immediately cursed her quick tongue for the scathing rhyme that had left it. But there was no taking it back now. No getting away from the fact that she was a defensive asshole, who had just snapped at the only person that had been there for her…

Rachel lapped one leg over the other, erected her posture, and dusted off her knee as she composed her thoughts. "I wasn't trying to smite you in any way, Quinn, though I am aware that I can sound somewhat blunt at times," she clarified, slanting her lips ruefully. "To address your clever little barb, I'm quite frankly surprised that you picked up on my lack of interest in the opposite sex. But yes..." She nodded affirmatively, confident in who she was. "I am, in fact, gay."

Quinn's jaw hinged open, fluttering up and down like a malfunctioning ventriloquist. Her mind struggled, at first, to patch together images of an older Rachel getting in from work and greeting a shadowy female figure with an affectionate smooch. But when she considered the incident that had caused her to first question Rachel's sexuality, the confirmation ceased to be shocking. "I _knew_ you were way too into kissing me!" she exclaimed, dropping her knee and sitting up.

Rachel's full-lunged chuckle kissed the cold walls in a way that Quinn wasn't at all used to.

"What's funny?"

"That kiss was a mere reflection of my superior acting skills," Rachel insisted, jotting an adamant nod on the end for emphasis. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

Quinn waved her hand as if to tell the brunette to be serious. "Oh please! There's probably a creepy shrine in the bottom of your closet that's dedicated to me. Pictures, strands of my hair, old shoes – the whole shebang!"

Rachel simply shrugged. "You're not my type."

"Whatever," Quinn scoffed, not buying a word of it.

But thanks to the brunette's unmoved expression, it quickly became apparent that the diva was serious...

Did Quinn want Rachel to have a crush on her because she had a crush on Rachel? Certainly not. But people wanting her - it was all she knew. As arrogant as it may seem, she wasn't used to hearing that she wasn't good enough in the looks department, especially from someone who ranked so far beneath her on the McKinley High food chain. So were pangs of insecurity racing through her right now?

Most definitely!

And given the events of the day so far, she just didn't have the energy to mask them. "W-What do you mean I'm not your type?"

"I'm not going to deny that your beauty far exceeds every one of my fantasies. You are the prettiest girl I've ever met," Rachel began positively. "But you are quite aggressive, and despite my small stature, and my tendency to joke about you being the boy in our pseudo romance, I can be pretty aggressive too - just not in the same way. I would imagine that we would clash, big time, in an actual relationship, thus minimizing the appeal." She shrugged again, like that was the end of it. But there was a definite rouge creeping into her cheeks, along with something significantly sly. "Though I've always thought that Brittany was perfect, but -"

Quinn deadpanned. "Brittany?"

Not only could Rachel see metaphorical steam billowing out of the cheerleader's ears, but the blonde was beginning to look a bit more like herself again.

It was a win-win situation!

"Sit there smirking all you want," Quinn mumbled somewhat petulantly. "But when I tell Santana about this, good luck finding a physiotherapist to teach you how to walk again."

Rachel's smirk steadily graduated to a grin, but she managed to keep it at bay just enough to execute the next part of her act: "Whilst I'm perfectly aware of the fact that _something_ is going on between Brittany and Santana, they have yet to come out and say anything about being exclusive. It's also not like Santana has ever bothered to keep her disdain for me to herself. Given those facts, Brittany is fair game. She'll be mine by the end of the year." She sniffed and cleared her throat. "Now, could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

"My water's a little too aggressive. But I hear that Brittany has the best water in town. Go _trouble_ her for some."


	6. Chapter 6

**The chapters seem to be getting longer. So they will be taking a little longer to get out, since I have more history to contend with as far as the story goes. Hopefully they won't take too long though ;) I am glad that I could make some of you guys laugh and cry, though I only wanted to make you laugh. Not cry. But I will take what I can get haha! Thanks for the comments :) Any mistakes are due to the fact that I have had very little sleep.  
**

* * *

As soon as Rachel hopped into the passenger seat and neglected to drop her usual cheery, 'good morning,' into the silence, Quinn knew that something had changed in the time that had passed between now and yesterday afternoon, when she had driven Rachel home and quietly thanked her for all that she had done, only to be winked at and told: "Don't worry about it."

The change was in the air that surrounded the chirpy brunette, Quinn decided. This change – it pulsed vibrantly with Rachel's every breath, and it was only amplified by the flirtatious grins that she seemed to be shining down at her cell phone, as tan fingers pattered away at the device's soundless keypad, swift and eager.

Quinn eyes quietened down to watchful squints. She removed her hand from where it was spread atop the gearshift, detached her seat-belt, and meticulously noted every flex that struck Rachel's blissed-out expression.

Not even three seconds later, Quinn was forced to determine that – yes - the shorter girl was definitely behaving in a much more peculiar manner than usual. Except that her behaviour wasn't all that peculiar, because Quinn _knew_ that look!

For those first few months of Quinn's first ever relationship, back in middle school, she had lived within that look. She had become it. So much so that her grades had suffered, and when Mr Linning had announced that she'd scored the lowest in her class, she had obliviously been sat at the back… texting rows of love hearts to Dillon Granger.

Similar love hearts seemed to be twirling in the darkest recesses of Rachel's eyes as she merrily typed away.

The writing wasn't just on the wall. It was on the wall for public consumption!

Rachel was dating someone else! Or at the very least she was flirting with someone else through the wonder that was text messaging…

Perhaps the sudden hot rush of anger that fogged Quinn's brain, in that moment of realization, was irrational. Perhaps not; she wasn't much in the mood for assessments. But as the searing emotion prickled to the tips of her limbs, she quickly became aware of the fact that her ire had the potential to be gravely destructive if she didn't rein it in. And she wanted to rein it in, because after yesterday's events Quinn knew that, despite her rocky past with the brunette, Rachel was somebody who deserved a large chunk of respect, regardless of how annoying she could be.

Her cloudy hazel eyes – billowing with wisps of forest green - flickered like the blinds of an eerie abandoned house, as she internally told herself, over and over again, to just chill out. But for as hard as she was trying, that toxic feeling persisted; begging her to express her urge to snatch the brunette's phone and interrogate her until she gave up this mystery girl's name, address, phone number, and shoe size…

Maybe this was a test of some sort – God throwing banana peels at her feet to see how well she would fare in this part of the marathon that he called life. To see whether or not she could doubt the fire within and grant Rachel the respect that she deserved.

Thinking about the situation in those terms provided a little relief for the blonde… somewhat. Such relief allowed for a clearer mind long enough for her to conclude that if she could just ask Rachel why she was talking to other girls – when everybody was supposed to think that _they_ were together – without raising her voice, then she would be able to say that she'd been successful…

Rachel suddenly threw her back, and snorted a melodic girlish giggle; her nose wrinkling – the corners of her dark sparkling eyes pleating prettily with the untold depth of her mirth. "That is hilarious," she chuckled to herself, tucking some hair back behind her ear as she eagerly returned her gaze to her cell phone's screen.

And the dam broke…

"_Who_ are you talking to?" bounded out off of Quinn's tense tongue.

Upon the discordant timbre of Quinn's voice Rachel frowned. She slowly blinked around the car's interior as if to reintroduce herself to her surroundings… or remind herself that she actually _had_ surroundings; she couldn't say which one. "Oh," she uttered, finally peering across at the blonde. "Morning Quinn."

"Morning. Now who are you texting?"

Once fully caught up – because for all she knew, she was still upstairs in her room – Rachel sat up straight and slipped her phone, which had just vibrated with another three messages, into her bag. Her fingers found one another in the dip of her skirt, interlinking in her lap. "Not to start us off on the wrong foot this morning, Quinn," she chirped, "but I really don't see how telling you who I'm texting is either going to improve your life or detract from it. In short, I don't feel that it is any of your business."

_Achoo_!

Quinn sniffed away the sudden cloudy mass that seemed to be descending within her nasal passages. If less riled, she just may have taken a tissue out of her bag to blow the sensation free. But clearly she had bigger fish to fry. Rachel Berry sized fish, as a matter of fact…

"What you do affects _me_, Rachel!" she stressed, sniffing again. "If you're texting some girl, I need to know about it – everyone's supposed to think that we're in love! So, again, who are you texting? Is it someone from school?"

Rachel shifted slightly in her seat. Her sudden silence was loud with the sense that maybe she was pondering how she wanted to respond…

"What seems to be the hold up?" Quinn pushed, quite proud of herself for having kept her cool thus far. That didn't, however, mean that she wasn't aware of how quickly things could deteriorate.

"The hold up pertains to the fact that I don't want to divulge the intricacies of my personal life to you, Quinn."

"Are you kidding me?" Quinn scoffed, her brow lowering with her glare. "Yesterday, I told you that I thought I was pregnant! Doesn't get much more _personal_ than that!" she somewhat bitterly exclaimed, remembering just how vulnerable she'd felt when she had turned around to see Rachel gazing sympathy at her from the bathroom doorway. "I'm _really_ trying not to be a bitch here!"

Rachel's lips bunched to one side as she chewed the inside of her cheek pensively. Then her mouth relaxed. "I'm currently learning to play the violin," she finally answered, though her tone was factual – clinical almost. "I attend classes after school every Thursday. I'm quite popular there, thanks to the fact that you haven't had the chance to poison everybody against me, like you have at school."

Like someone had tugged a light off, Quinn's face fell. "Why are you bringing that up? I apologized for that, and I meant it!"

"A girl by the name of Noelle also attends these classes," Rachel continued on, as if she hadn't heard the blonde at all. "We're friends. That is the extent of my relations with her, so you needn't worry about her blowing our cover. Am I allowed to resume my conversation with her now, mother? May I also stay up a little later tonight?"

"Not if you're going to be up late texting some _girl_!" Quinn retorted, seemingly oblivious as to how she was coming across.

Rachel was far from oblivious though; her marble brown eyes skated through the small distance between them, and travelled the landscapes of possessiveness that scored Quinn's tight expression. She didn't dare delve deeper into the thought that suddenly knocked, relentlessly, at her mind. The notion was just completely and utterly fucking absurd!

She angled her torso sideways, so that she could watch the blonde without interruption. "Nothing is going on between Noelle and I," Rachel emphasized, with a slight nod of the head upon every syllable. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have many friends. I just so happened to click with her, and I'm merely excited about our budding friendship. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to leave it at that!"

The Head Cheerleader almost had to stop herself from looking around for the bullshit that she could smell. She had seen that _look_ on Rachel's face – the same look that Rachel had bestowed upon her at school, when they had swindled their peers into believing that they were taken with one another.

Only, it was clear that Rachel wasn't acting now. She liked someone else, and it was genuine.

As Quinn slowly shook her head, from side to side, she chuckled mirthlessly at the blatancy of the brunette's lies. "I can't call bullshit loudly enough right now. This _Noelle_ - you either have a crush on her, or you guys are already dating! Let's just call a spade a spade," she stated, adamant. "I mean, what happened to Brittany, the love of your life?" she mocked the other girl, whose plump lips merely quirked up to echo flecks of a smirk. "What are you smirking at?"

"Never did I say that Brittany was the love of my life. If you care to remember correctly, you cut me off before I could finish what I had to say regarding that topic, and when I said that she would be mine by the end of the year, I was merely messing with you. Secondly," Rachel said, shooting the blonde a highly pensive frown, "be very very careful Quinn, because I am cautiously beginning to suspect that your aversion to the idea of Noelle and I dating has nothing to do with your concern for the welfare of our ruse, and everything to do with… something else entirely."

The unspoken implication swayed the blonde perhaps a little more than it should have, because although the notion was truly absurd, she did find that she was feeling strangely territorial of Rachel now that this Noelle girl was a part of the picture…

Making sure to swiftly disregard those thoughts, she tugged her seat-belt back on, and began to massage her twitching temples, which were undoubtedly becoming a little heavy and congested. "I can't even talk to you right now. You're ridiculous."

'_I can't even talk to you right now. You're ridiculous_?' That was it? That was all that Quinn had to say? A particularly peculiar response, at least in Rachel's book it seemed to be. She sat there waiting for some sort of elaboration, but when Quinn simply rolled her eyes to herself and remained silent, Rachel was forced to conclude that she had struck something within the blonde, though she wasn't sure that she wanted to know what exactly she had struck.

She took her palm to her sternum, rubbing soothing circles into it as she took care with the selection of her words. "Quinn," she began with rational calm, "If you don't take the opportunity to deny my unspoken accusation, I'm going to assume that you've fallen in love with me. Then I'm going to exit this car and run. Far, _far_ away!"

Well that had ended rather dramatically, hadn't it?

Quinn caught herself thinking much along the same lines, and out of the absolute **blue** her cheeks eased up with a grin, which she quickly directed out of her window; because fuck if she was going to let Rachel see it. "You're _such_ a drama queen," she half complained and half sniggered, her shoulders dancing with the stilted and clandestine rhythm of each reluctant bray.

"Oh really? How so?"

Genuinely; Rachel was quite curious.

Once Quinn had pushed down her mirth, she side-eyed the brunette. "Do you really want me to get my list out?"

Rachel's mouth globbed shut, the course of her thoughts instantly changing. "Wait, you have a list?" she asked, her forehead deepening with a frown.

"Sure do," Quinn nodded, aloof.

"Aha!" Rachel exclaimed victoriously. "Because you're in love with me!"

The claim caused Quinn's top lip to gradually fold up in disgust. "You're not my type," she barbed, merely repaying the favor for yesterday. "Besides, I like to leave the gaying-it-up all to you. You do it so unbelievably well."

"Well…" Rachel grinned haughtily, and dusted something imaginary off the sleeve of her sweater vest. "I don't know what you've heard. But I'm more than happy to take the street cred."

"Rachel?"

"What?"

Suddenly serious, Quinn regarded the other girl and gravely shook her head from side to side. "You can't talk to Noelle anymore."

"Pfft," Rachel folded her arms, barking one syllable of dry laughter. "Good luck with that."

"The six degrees of separation theory isn't just a theory. It's true, especially this town. I'm not risking it and neither are you. I generally don't care who you bang in your spare time…"

Rachel clicked her tongue. She couldn't imagine herself _banging_ anybody, but still…

"But," Quinn went on, "when it could negatively affect me, I've got to step in and eliminate all potential threats, namely Noelle in this instance. I hope you'll understand." She hunched her shoulder up to her cheek with a tight smile, and positioned her one hand on the steering wheel, whilst the other lowered in search of the key that hung in the ignition.

But Rachel's hand beat her to it. She used her palm to gently block the blonde's now tense fingers, and then leaned in close towards Quinn, so that there would be no mistake about what she said next…

"If anything happens to Noelle, Quinn," she enunciated sternly, "there will be hell to pay! You would do well to reflect on that before going along with whatever barbaric plan it is that you have in mind!" Having said her piece, she retreated back into her own space.

"Aww," Quinn cooed, though her expression remained completely dead and unenthusiastic. "How sweet of you to threaten me on behalf of your little girlfriend," she antagonized the riled brunette, under the guise of their usual banter.

But internally the blonde was growing resentful of the fact that she had nobody in her life to fight her corner the way that Rachel seemed to be prepared to fight Noelle's…

After a few minutes of quiet gazing through the windscreen, she couldn't help but part her pink lips to ask the question that seemed to be multiplying on her mind. "Are you having sex with her?"

Once upon a time, Quinn may have gleaned that the prudish little diva was still a virgin, and that she would remain that way until her mid-twenties. But, strangely enough, she had learned that the brunette was nowhere near as square as everybody thought. The aspiring Broadway star was annoyingly quirky, crude at times, and actually quite silly...

Rachel pursed her lips and looked at the Head Cheerleader, who merely stared back with bold brazen eyes, as the off-hand inquiry regarding the brunette's sex life hung between them. "As riveting as this little inquisition has been, Quinn, I'm over it. You're not getting another word out of me regarding my relationship with Noelle. Your questions have become invasive and borderline disturbing – not to mention suggestive of the notion that you like me more than you care to admit, which is actually really quite worrying. Now, you can either begin to drive, or you can give me the run-though of today's itinerary. Your choice."

"Quit fluffing that ego of yours. I only asked because I need to know how serious you are about her," Quinn explained, rolling her eyes. "Everything you do affects me now! So if you're having sex with this girl, you need to tell me so that I can work out what I'm going to do if anybody sees you two glowing post-coitally!"

…

"Rachel?"

The brunette simply smoothed her hand down her hair and clothes, all whilst humming something that sounded like a song from Disney's The Lion King, or something.

Quinn's jaw clenched, visibly contracting beneath her pristine alabaster skin. "If I didn't strongly suspect that you would take legal action, I'd punch you right now. Just… pow right in the eye."

The humming came to an abrupt stop, followed by a merry: "Keep the smack-talk up, Quinn. Our future children are going to hate you by the time they're old enough to understand what domestic abuse is. Also, know that I'm calculated enough not to fight you back in front of them. You'll die a lonely old woman, and I'll croak with our children sobbing at my feet – all fifteen of them."

"You need to stop feeding whatever weird fantasy it is that you have about having my children," Quinn grumbled.

She had just wanted to know what she was dealing with as far as Noelle was concerned. Simple. It was neither invasive nor disturbing, in her mind. Quinn Fabray liked to be one step ahead is all.

But now Rachel wouldn't talk about it anymore, which was frustrating to the nth degree.

_Achoo_!

"If you sneeze one more time, Quinn, I'm going to have to end this relationship. People are not going to believe that I would date someone with such a shoddy immune system."

Quinn sniffed and rubbed her nose back and forth rapidly, hoping that the turbulence of it all would reset the way that she was feeling. "And people aren't going to believe that we're together if they see you out buying edible lingerie with Noelle," she retorted.

"You know; it's so strange. Every time I hear **you**, specifically, say the name Noelle, I experience this insane urge to hum. I'm seriously going to have to look up such strange phenomena in the medical journals."

"If I want something badly enough, I make it happen. Take that however you want to, but just keep it in mind." With that, Quinn cranked the key in the ignition, feeling the car rumble beneath her body. She pressed her white pump down on the pedal and jerked the gearshift. "Oh, and today we're moving onto step four of the plan. Unfortunately, we're going to have to act like we enjoy touching each other. I'll try not to throw up all over you."

The car steadily eased down from the curb and rolled off.

"How considerate of you," Rachel replied dryly. She wound her window down, only to have the blonde press a button that saw the pane swiftly rise up shut again.

Just as the unamused brunette had prepped her lips for the release of her complaint, Quinn pushed the button for the second time, and once again breeze generously wafted in against the side of Rachel's face.

The cheerleader smirked spitefully, though her sight never left the road.

Rachel simply rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure that I enjoy your brand of humor, Quinn. It resembles that of a boy flicking dead insects at the girl he secretly desires. But moving on; when did Finn come crawling back to you on his hands and knees? Isn't that step supposed to come before our upsurge in PDA?"

"I wouldn't flick a dead insect at you if you begged me to," Quinn countered, easing the steering wheel around. "And Finn hasn't come crawling back to me on his hands and knees just yet! He sent me a text; he wants me back."

"I can't think why."

"Because the size of his package hangs in the balance. That's why."

Not wanting to query anything pertaining to Finn Hudson's penis, Rachel fetched her phone from her bag and set about reading the three messages that were waiting for her…

_Achoo_!

_Achoo_!

**Achoo**!

Third time lucky... or not!

Quinn forcefully stuffed her hand into her bag, snatched out a tissue, and quickly blanketed her nose as her reddened nostrils exploded once again.

She winced down at the partially sodden tissue that rested warm with her own mucus, drawling a low whiny groan as she then folded it up, dropped it into her bag, and slumped back against the locker that neighbored Rachel's.

"You seem to be coming down with something, baby," Rachel cooed, jutting her bottom lip out sympathetically. She swiftly closed her locker, and brushed gentle fingers up and down Quinn's bare forearm.

If Quinn wanted spectacles of PDA, she was going to get just that.

"Life really isn't fair. On the odd chance that I do get sick, I always look like I've been dead for three weeks. But you?" Rachel baited with a whisper, growing tall on her tiptoes to let the heat that wisped from her lips pour over Quinn's porcelain neck. "You still look so unbelievably sexy," she sensuously husked into the blonde's ear, though just loud enough so that their peers could hear.

Predictably, most within earshot swiftly abandoned what they were doing at their lockers to glance over. Not that they hadn't already been watching the freakish couple anyway…

Quinn's right eyebrow slowly jaunted up towards her flawless hairline, the rest of her face otherwise expressionless; she would never get over how convincing Rachel was as an actress! Everything just flowed – the inspiration, the dialogue, her movements, her facial expressions; the little things.

Quinn didn't like to admit it, even just to herself, but she was beginning to feel like she couldn't keep up. If it were not for the existence of the film industry, it would have been quite disconcerting to know that someone could be such an adept liar.

"Thanks gorgeous," she eventually replied, beaming down at her supposed love with as warm a smile as she could. Then she hesitantly, at first, brought her hand up and brushed soft brown hair away from radiant tan skin. "With you by my side, I know that I'll be as good as new in no time," she added affectionately.

Rachel practically purred and buried her face in the cheerleader's neck. She murmured the tip of her nose, deliberate and gentle, up and down Quinn's slowly contracting throat. "I love you, Q-bear," she whispered, before pulling back and smiling somewhat demure.

"I-I love you too, Rach."

Neither Quinn nor Rachel, wrapped up within their false love stupor, noticed Finn glaring at them from the end of the hallway. His fists clenched to the point where angry half-moon nail marks bit, sore and red, into his own large palms.

But he felt not a morsel of pain; his eyes a murky reflection of the way that Rachel was giggling and pawing all over Quinn, so carefree...

It wasn't fair. How was it that his days of being carefree had passed? Yesterday had been absolute hell - the teasing relentless! He'd realized, as Azimo, Karofsky and Price had all danced around him, sneering, that he couldn't fight everybody who had something smart to say about the fact that Quinn was so damaged after being with him, that she now deemed it acceptable to be getting her rocks off with the local troll that lived under the Broadway bridge.

But he _could_ fight back. He knew that much.

If he could just send Man Hands back to the depths of loserdom hell, where she belonged, then Quinn would realize that Rachel wasn't good enough, and swiftly return to his side.

Simple.

What he didn't know, as he brought the frosty grape slushie out from behind his back and approached the two oblivious girls, was that a keen pair of brownish-hazel eyes – off to his left – were not so oblivious…

Noah Puckerman could see it all ending in tears, or at the very most: violence. Somehow he just knew what was about to go down, and he wasn't on board at all!

So he acted with uncensored haste, dropping his bag to the floor, and charging forward.

The sound of his sneakers squeaking loudly against the floor alerted many, including Rachel, whose face slowly drained of its makeshift infatuation, instead crumpling with an anticipatory wince as she caught sight of what Finn was holding.

Noting the drastic change, Quinn wasted no time following the brunette's gaze. She did so just in time to see Puck tackle Finn into the locker opposite where she was stood. Upon the loud steely collision, trickles of deep purple slush ran the hallway floors, like the blood of a nation after a gruesome war.

"What are you doing, idiot?" Puck roared into the pasty boy's reddening face. "She's never gonna want you, because you're slow, bro!"

"Get off of me!" Finn yelled, flailing wildly in Puck's strong grip. He had little space to manoeuvre due to the fact that he was being forced up against the locker, but he _was_ going to make his point, come hell or high water…

Everyone – including Puck - ducked when the slushie cup, still rich with remnants of crushed purple ice, soared gracefully through the air, leaving indiscriminate trails of splatter in its wake.

Numerous gasps hissed out – the shocked cries of those that had, in some way, been touched by the cold syrupy concoction.

Without even thinking about it, Quinn tugged Rachel behind her as if she were her bodyguard. Only then did she, too, duck for cover...

She knew that her efforts had been futile once the entire right side of her face numbed bitterly, and began to drip purple puddles – the empty slushie cup rolling to a stop nearby.

Puck savagely shrugged Finn loose, whilst shaking his head in complete and utter disgust.

"This is what your life's gonna be like if you stay with _that_!" Finn snarled at his ex-girlfriend, whilst jabbing a hateful finger in the stunned brunette's direction. "Shes a loser. She'll just bring you down! I know you don't love her. How can you love… _that_?"

Quinn stood there, fuming as she dripped. She had forgotten how to hear. She had forgotten about the dull fluish ache that had begun to work its way into her muscles. She had forgotten that she was Head Cheerleader. In that moment, she felt herself to be nothing but a girl who was about to kill a doofus!

The muscles in her legs flexed, all working together to quickly propel her into Finn's space, from where she threw a hand around his neck and forcefully drove him back into the locker just behind, though with much less impact than Puck had been able to.

Nevertheless, it wasn't like she was concerned about that…

Puck folded his arms, thoroughly enjoying every second of watching the smoking hot blonde manhandle Finnept! _Charlie's Angles_? _Powerpuff Girls_? Eat your heart out!

"Quinn!" Rachel scolded, sensing the potential danger of the situation. "Stop it!"

Quinn merely squeezed what she could of Finn's neck harder, making sure that her nails bit the flesh acrimoniously. "Rachel's better in bed than you are," she hissed out of pure spite. "She's everything that you aren't. She makes my toes curl, and for those few seconds when I'm coming I literally can't breathe. With every kiss, every lick, and every _thrust_," she purred crudely, "she manages to erase the trauma that I endured during my sexual encounters with you! I want you to let that sink in before I send you on your way to meet your maker!"

Finn squirmed uncomfortably, unsure as to what to do. He had never been in this situation before. All his life it had been drummed into his head that he should never hit a girl, but Quinn – she was actually hurting him. "I d-don't wanna… L-Let me go -"

_Achoo_!

…

Howls of laughter suddenly rang out like applause as Finn blinked; his eyelashes and upper top lip glistening with specks of his ex-girlfriend's mucus.

His eyes darkened, and with a growl he shoved Quinn away, sending her stumbling backwards on shaky feet.

Rachel glared daggers at the tall boy, ready to take extreme action if need be.

Puck willed brick-like power into his fist, getting ready to brutally behead Finn with it.

But he ended up having to snatch Santana's waist, before she could charge in – seemingly out of nowhere - and claw the absolute stuffing out of the Quarterback's eyes.

"Touch my bitch again, asshole!" she shouted, thrashing around almost demonically in Puck's clutch. "I will rip the cashew that you call a dick off, and fuck you blind with it!"

Finn's eyes grew wide as he deconstructed that threat. He gulped and wiped his face off, feeling caged.

"I should let her get at you!" Puck spat, though he never released the Latina.

"So let me go skunk-for-brains!"

"Yeah Puck, let her go. I think that you should kill Finn, Sanny," Brittany casually put in, as she picked up the empty slushie cup and licked it's rim as if it were an ice-cream. "Mmmm." She slapped her lips together moreishly, and offered a lick to the random boy next to her, who just shook his head and side-stepped away. "Your loss."

Finn suddenly dropped to his knees, skating them through the wet mess that swished the floors until he was kneeling at Quinn's pumps. "I-I-I'm sorry. Please just be my girlfriend again! I still love you!" he wailed pathetically, attempting to grasp at her hand, which she viciously tugged away from his searching fingers.

"Have some respect, you inane excuse for flesh and bones! How dare you put those dry baseball mitts on her?" Rachel snapped, advancing on the kneeling boy. "Get away from her! You had your chance and you blew it! She's mine! Now skedaddle, before I do something that I regret!"

Where Finn normally would have towered over RuPaul and intimidated her into silence for such lip, he knew that such action was not an option here. From where he was knelt, he had a pretty good view of everybody's faces. All bared hostile teeth.

He was a dumbass, but he knew when it didn't serve him to stick around. So he huffily stood up, with dark patches at his knees, and stormed off…

Rachel made sure that she could no longer see the boy before running her hand down Quinn's arm, and asking: "Are you alright?"

"Do I look like I'm alright?" the salty blonde snapped, shrugging the petite hand off.

Santana forcefully spun in Puck's arms and shoved him in the chest. "There better be a reason why you held me back, like _you _are going to fuck that jolly pale giant up, and you didn't want me to do it before you got the chance!" she enunciated.

Puck's eyes were still narrowed in the direction that Finn had scarpered off in. "I've got something for him," he confirmed; dark and cryptic.

Those few words were more than enough assurance for Santana, who swiftly took her attention to Rachel. "And you!" she started, backing the somewhat startled brunette up against the locker. "If you're gonna be dating my bitch, you bests to grow some balls – stepping in all late and shit. You're a disgrace. I ought to -"

"Santana, back off!" Quinn ordered, done with playing games at this point. She was sticky, her head was beginning to ache, and her clothes were damp. Right now, nobody had the right to show out and turn up but her!

"Yes Santana. Back off," Rachel echoed, somewhat smug.

The Latina eyed her best friend, looking for a twitch – something that would let her know that the blonde was just stringing the diva along for shits and giggles. But it never materialized, and that left her frowning…

"Rachel, let's go!" Quinn demanded, already a metre or so away…

Both girls shuffled into the toilets; Quinn heading over to the sinks, whilst Rachel took a packet of wet-wipes from her bag.

"Welcome to the slushie club," the brunette whispered, tugging a wipe loose and dragging it along the side of the sullen blonde's face. "I should have your honorary membership card ready by the end of the day."

Quinn's expression flatlined. Literally, there was no pulse. At all. "Well make sure it's made of the good sharp plastic. Then I can slit your throat with it." She snatched the next wipe that Rachel had tugged loose, and huffily span around to wipe her face in the mirror.

Behind her, Rachel was mentally cursing herself for her verbal diarrhea. She really needed to learn to get it in check, because truthfully she had been quite touched by the blonde's thoughtfulness out in the hallway. "I would like to thank you, Quinn, for shielding me from that slushie. I wasn't quite expecting -"

Quinn's hand stilled inches from her face. She watched the brunette in the mirror. "Yeah, well I didn't expect for you to help me out yesterday either. So I guess we should both expect the unexpected…"

Rachel smiled quietly to herself.

"Santana had a point," Quinn suddenly said. "Where was the fire, just now, that I saw in you earlier when you were defending Noelle?" she picked, grudgeful. "You need to get your priorities in order – oh wait, I forgot; _she_ sleeps with you and I won't."

"Do you want me to start humming church hymns? Because I will – and need I remind you of the fact that I apparently make your toes curl? As far as McKinley High is concerned, you _are_ sleeping with me."

"This is pointless!" Quinn grumbled at her reflection, which hadn't improved much since she had started to drag the damp scented cloth about her skin. Half of her blonde hair was drying maroon, she still felt icky and flued up, and her Cheerio's uniform was fucked!

Great! Something else for Coach Sue Sylvester to be mad at her about – on top of the truancy that she had committed yesterday.

She tossed the dirty wipe into the sink, and sighed. "Fuck this; I'm going home. I'm getting sick and I need to get cleaned up. So I'm going home," she stated with a resolute nod, seemingly working it out with her reflection. "I'll call Brittany, and she'll take you home when school's over."

"You needn't bother," Rachel said, as she packed her packet of wipes away and tossed the used one in the trash, "I have Glee after school today, and so does Brittany. I'll ask her to give me a ride home when Glee's over..."

Over at the Fabray residence, Judy was patting down her wild hair in the bathroom mirror. She should have been at work by now, but she wasn't. She'd waited until Quinn and Russell had left, before deciding that she was going to text her younger lover.

He had passed through in a flurry of kisses, drool-worthy aftershave, and multiple orgasms…

Now she was alone again, left unsupervised with thoughts of how unhappy she was in her marriage. Left with thoughts of old age and abandonment. Her eyes rowed across the glass medicine cabinet, noting just how many anti-aging creams she had purchased over the years; soon there wouldn't be any room left for actual medicine.

As she slipped into her black heels, straightened out her collar, grabbed her purse, and made for the front door, her blazer pocket lit with a jingle. A grin highlighted the few youthful features that she had left, and she slowed her step to pluck out her cell phone...

Her smile dropped once she gleaned that she hadn't gotten a saucy text from her dashing bit on the side, but a video message from an anonymous number instead.

Curious, she pressed play.

The camerawork was shaky to begin with, but the hushed whispers that poured from her phone's speakers were indicative of teenage gossip. Soon to follow were clear images of her daughter, Quinn, who was standing awfully close to that Rachel Berry girl by a row of lockers.

Judy's brow pinched.

"What the…" The sentence died off, along with some of her brain cells as she watched the Berry girl rise up and kiss her daughter, without suffering an ounce of chastisement once they parted –

With amateur abruptness, the video then cut to black!

Judy stood in the middle of the lounge, not quite knowing what to do. What was Russell going to do when he found about this? She grimaced.

The front door suddenly rattled open, having to swing shut all by itself when Quinn's eyes unexpectedly found her mother.

She halted. "Mom. What are you doing here? I thought that you were supposed to be at work?" she probed, sub-consciously running her hand over only the purple strands of her hair.

Judy didn't bother to ask what had happened to her daughter's hair and clothes. She wasn't interested. "Are you a-a…" She took her wrinkling hand to her mouth and gasped as the video's images stomped through her mind again. "Are you a-a lesbian?" she grated out.

Quinn felt all moisture leave her mouth. "What?"

"Tell me Quinn!" Judy demanded. "The sooner you admit it, the sooner I can get you help regarding the extermination of your urges! If your father knew that you were going around letting that Berry girl kiss you, he would have a heart attack! And to do it for the whole school to see?" she shrieked, freaking out.

Realization blessed Quinn's senses the moment that she saw the phone in her mother's trembling clasp. Most likely, one of her peers had somehow sent her mom the footage of Rachel kissing her in the hallway. Finnept, no doubt! – yet was he really smart enough to pull such a punishing stunt?

"I think you've had one too many drinks again, mom," she recovered aloofly, though she didn't really know what she was recovering from since she wasn't a lesbian.

Maybe it was just all of the secrets and lies that had her on edge.

"Yes, Rachel kissed me," Quinn clarified, standing strong. "Yes, I was too stunned to do anything about it at the time. But she's going to pay for it, trust me."

"Have I had one too many drinks? How dare you speak to me like that?" The older woman hissed back. "You need to help me look for a facility that deals with stuff like this, so that we can get you the assistance that you need!" As she took off in frantic search of the laptop, a half-empty bottle of brandy fell out of her purse, clunking to the floor.

Quinn rolled her eyes and growled low in her scratchy throat. "I don't have time for this!" She kicked off her pumps, and dumped her bag on the sofa. "I need a shower, and a mother who knows when to step in when she's needed. Still, I won't hold my breath for that last one!"

"Quinn!" Judy yelled after her daughter, who had already taken off upstairs. At the sound of the shower pitter-pattering into use, she sighed.

Still, maybe it was a good thing that Quinn had gone upstairs and left her bag unattended…

It was slumped on the sofa, a book or two spilling from its mouth.

Judy slowly stalked towards it, like it was going to sprout legs and take off if she wasn't careful. She glanced at the staircase, and acted fast; shoving her hand into her daughter's bag and feeling around until her fingers brushed what she was looking for.

She lifted Quinn's cell phone up to her face, thinking that she would be able to get to the bottom of this if she just went through and read her daughter's text messages.

Sadly Judy didn't get that far along, because when she swiped her thumb across the screen to unlock the little device, the display brightened, and behind all of the widgets that littered the home screen, there was a picture – taken in the very room that she was stood in – of Quinn and the Berry girl snuggled up close, mid-giggle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well this poured out faster than expected. Must be because it is the weekend. This chapter continues on a couple of hours after where the last one ended :)  
**

* * *

Not one person would have known that Judy Fabray had been crying, and that was just how she wanted it. No one would have known that she'd just smoked a blunt either, due to the fact that she had ushered away the crimson that webbed her eyeballs with some eye-drops. Her black heels struck the pavement and steps with purpose, strong and willful, until she was standing before the quirky red door - her fist poised to knock.

It stayed that way, suspended mid-air, for a while.

She could hear laughter on the other side. The kind that made one weak – spaghetti-like. Judy couldn't help but ask herself why her household never sounded like that? Maybe it was the impersonal furniture, or the fact that her family didn't sit around a table and eat together. Or maybe the problem was Russell, and the unattainable standard of perfection that he demanded.

Or maybe it was her…

Judy was a terrible parent, and she knew that. Nobody outside of the Fabray household knew it, but she did and so did her daughter. No wonder Quinn was seeking affection from girls, Judy gleaned. Quinn was probably seeking the bond that she had neglected to give her, recreating their dysfunctional relationship with other girls in an even more dysfunctional manner in order to fill the void.

Judy had read about it online, specifically on a website that belonged to an organization called Hope For All. HFA was a gay-to-straight conversion camp. The price to send Quinn there for the required two months was steep, but the organization claimed to have a seventy-five percent success rate.

Judy was sold. She would sort everything out regarding that tomorrow, but she had to do something else first, and that something involved a little chat with the Berry family – better known as the fags down the block by some of the more myopic residents of the town.

It was time to start being the mother that Quinn deserved, and it was all going to start with a knock.

Judy swiftly brought her knuckles down on the door and then waited. She preened her hair, hiked her slipping purse strap up on her shoulder, and stood strong as a tall shadow crossed the front window.

She was staring up at a tall thin man, who wore glasses and was greying, before she knew it.

"Good evening." He smiled pleasant and kind. "How may I help you?"

"I – hi," she stumbled, smiling it off. "My name is Judy Fabray. I have a few things that I'd like to discuss with you, your husband, and your daughter. It's important."

Hiram frowned and stood up straighter; his family were not to be played with. "Important like you've come to evict us? Or important as in -"

"Your daughter," Judy interrupted, smiling to keep the disdain out of her voice, or at least mask it. "Your daughter," she voiced again, "she's… involved with _my_ daughter…"

The woman's blonde hair cast Hiram's mind back to when he had seen Quinn sitting in her car. There wasn't much of a resemblance besides that, but the connection still struck. "A-Are you Quinn's mother?" he asked.

Judy nodded stiltedly, uncomfortable with the fact that this man seemed to know her daughter. "Yes. Now may I – may I please come in?"

"Rachel made it perfectly clear that she wasn't romantically involved with Quinn, and I believe and trust my daughter."

"She's a teenager," Judy pointed out, a little sharp with it. "Teenagers lie."

Folding his arms, Hiram cleared his throat, which was still a little phlegmy thanks to the flu. "They don't lie if you teach them that it's ok to be who they are, and that it's ok to have the opinions that they do," he said, beginning to take offense. "We're very open, and we encourage Rachel to be open too, which she is, even when her honesty has me and my husband cringing."

"I didn't catch your name but -"

"Hiram," he clarified, staunch.

"Hiram, I didn't come here to argue with you on your doorstep. Someone sent me a video of your daughter – Rachel – kissing my Quinn. Then I found pictures of them both on my daughter's cell phone. Pictures where they're a little too close for me to think that nothing's going on. Now, you may be alright with your daughter – Rachel – being a-a lesbian, but I'm not ok with Quinn being that way inclined. It just – we can't have that. I won't accept it!"

"Despite my best efforts to stay out of town gossip, I've heard about you Fabray's. I didn't know that Quinn was a part of the clan. But if she's romantically involved with Rachel, which I am certain that she isn't despite your _evidence_, then I can only hope that you will support her. She will need it."

"Are you telling me how to raise my daughter?"

Hiram shook his head wistfully. "No. I remember how I felt when I told my parents about me. I couldn't hide. I was an obviously gay little boy, and an obviously gay teenager. I thought that my parents didn't love me anymore when I finally put them out of their misery and told them, and that is the worst feeling that you can ever make your child feel."

Judy hadn't really thought about it that way. She'd immediately begun to look for solutions – a cure for the problem – as soon as she had seen that picture on her daughter's phone.

But she didn't want a gay child. At all. Aside from that issue, there were a whole load of other issues involved too. Judy didn't want Quinn to be the recipient of any abuse; it was bad enough just being a woman in today's society, without being a gay woman too. Also, there was rape culture to worry about – boys not being able to help themselves around a girl of Quinn's beauty, and raping her, or slipping something into her drink, once she rejected them with the explanation that she was a gay.

It weighed heavy on Judy's shoulders.

"I can't have a gay daughter!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing into the night. "She's going to face enough hardship in her life, without being a part of the LGBT community too!"

"Well," Hiram calmly began, "I don't know Quinn very well, but if Rachel is spending any time at all with her, then that means that Quinn is smart; because Rachel doesn't suffer fools well. With that said, your daughter is extraordinarily beautiful. She's not like me; she can blend into today's heteronormative society. Not that I support having to blend in, but when it comes to her safety I would hope that she'll be discerning enough to know who will accept her for who she is, and who will not."

Judy closed her eyes, but it all became too much – they whipped open. "I want Rachel to stay away from Quinn!" she snapped.

Some shuffling behind Hiram, just then, alerted Judy. Her eyes left the tall thin man and found Rachel, who was actually better-looking than that video had told.

The two made lingering eye contact…

"R-Rachel, I'm Judy Fabray. I want to talk to you about your relationship with Quinn."

Rachel glanced up at her dad, and swallowed. "I – well…" She sighed, and allowed for a struggling smile. "What aspect of my relationship with Quinn are you looking to discuss?" she settled upon asking.

"The aspect that entails you pursuing her romantically," Judy replied, without missing a beat.

"No," Hiram interjected. "We're not discussing this out here. Let's take this inside."

Judy took care not to accidentally touch or brush anything as she walked into the lounge. She didn't often associate with homosexuals – or at least she hadn't thought so up until today. Not that her and Quinn actually spent any time together.

Still, she didn't know these people and…

"Have a seat if you'd like," Rachel chirped at the older woman. "I just need to use the toilet. I won't be a second."

Before either her daddy or Judy could question her, she took off upstairs, only to have the quiet classical music that poured through the cracks of the bathroom door remind her that her dad, Leroy, was soaking in the bath...

Downstairs, Judy remained standing as Hiram poured himself a glass of scotch.

She eyed the strong liquid lustfully; she could almost smell it.

"What?" Hiram challenged her gaze, as he sat the fancy bottle down on the table. "Were you expecting something pink and fluffy, like a Cosmopolitan cocktail, to be my drink of choice?"

Upstairs, Rachel gently eased her bedroom door shut and dialed Quinn's number.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," the brunette chanted quietly, pacing back and forth…

"Rachel?"

"Quinn, your mother is at my house! She is downstairs. I said that I had to use the bathroom so that I could call you! Now tell me what the frack is going on?" Rachel quietly demanded into her phone.

"Shit!" Quinn spat. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, frantic. She stopped pouring her drink, and held her phone to her ear properly. "Are you – what did you say to her?"

"Tell me why she's here!"

"Some asshole sent her footage of you kissing me at school," the blonde growled. "She asked me if I'm gay. I told her that you kissed me, and that I wasn't expecting it, and that I was going to make you pay for what you did! I can't – I can't _believe_ that she's annoying enough to just show up at your fucking house!"

"Gee thanks, Quinn. I suppose you expect me to go down there and say that I go around just forcing myself on girls! That is not going to happen. So what else would you suggest?"

Quinn sighed, and a congested wheeze entered Rachel's ear. But other than that the blonde didn't speak…

"Hello?"

"If you remember correctly that's exactly what happened!" Quinn eventually snapped. "You forced that kiss on me, and I wasn't expecting it, and now everybody and their mother has probably seen that God damn footage! If my dad sees it, I'm **done**!" She sighed gruffly. "This is such a fucking mess!"

"Stop trying to make me sound like some sort of sexual deviant. **You** hired me for the part, Quinn Fabray!" Rachel swiftly reminded her. "I simply gave a convincing performance."

"That's bullshit! You were trying to antagonize me!" Quinn raised her voice. "Yes, I deserved it and more. But let's not make it seem like that kiss was an act of righteousness! You fucking hate me, and that's why you did it!"

"I do not _fucking_ hate you!" Rachel whispered, matter-of-fact. "If you need to hear me say that repeatedly, until it sinks in, then we can hash the issue out later. But I'm afraid that, right now, we don't have the time for a round of marriage counseling!" she bit impatiently.

"Is… Did she seem drunk? My mom, I mean. Did..." From the corner of her eye, Quinn saw something grey fly out from behind the toaster oven. She glanced up at the ceiling fan, which was now spinning cold air down at her head. It had been turning itself on ever since her father had tried to fix the other problems that had been plaguing it...

Despite Rachel repeatedly calling her name, Quinn lowered her phone to the shiny black work surface, and picked up what appeared to be a grey sock up. The first thing that she noted about it was that it was nowhere near her father's size. The second thing that she noticed, as she turned it around in her hand, was the Zelda pattern that was stitched into the material.

Her eyes broadened.

"Sam," she whispered.

"Quinn, where have you gone?" Rachel asked, sighing.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Quinn finally responded. There seemed to now be a certain stiffness to her already congested voice, an air of despondence almost.

"It… it doesn't matter anymore?" Rachel echoed, her voice thinning soft as her shoulders released some tension. "What do you mean?"

The blonde ran her thumb over the sock as she gazed down at the familiar pattern that was woven into it, just to be sure. Her stomach lurched, but she breathed the feeling away. "Listen to me carefully. I'm going to call my mom in a few seconds. Wherever you are, stay there! She'll be gone in a few minutes, I promise."

The phone then suddenly went dead.

"Quinn?" Rachel whined, resisting the urge to stomp her foot…

The atmosphere downstairs was tenser than ever. In fact, it had grown so thick that Judy no longer cared to watch her words. "Maybe you should go and check on your daughter. Make sure she hasn't fallen down the toilet bowl."

"Excuse me?" Hiram challenged, not liking this woman's tone in the slightest.

"Oh stop being so naïve! We both know that she's up there calling Quinn right now, when she should be down here facing the music!"

"I really don't like the tone that you are taking in my house."

Judy's pocket began to vibrate just then. She frowned down at it and quickly retrieved her phone.

After a small hair-flick, the device was at her ear within the second. "Quinn; what a surprise. Before you say anything, I'm just trying to do what is best for you. You were complaining about me not being very good at that earlier. So don't complain when I try to do something about it. I'm going to be on your every move after you've completed the conversion therapy, to make sure that there are no relapses."

"Conversion therapy?" Hiram huffed, quite frankly appalled that such places still existed in two-thousand-and-fourteen! He didn't care what anybody said; those places were blatant scams. You were most likely graduating there one week, and then sucking a stranger's dick behind a nightclub the next.

Judy angled her body away from the nosy man, and quietened her voice to a murmur. "I saw that picture of you and Rachel," she spat, adding, "on your phone. So don't spin me some lie about how she forced herself on you. You're going to get help -"

"Mom!" Quinn yelled.

"What?"

"Firstly – and I'm only going to say this one more time – I'm **not** gay, and Rachel **isn't** my girlfriend! She's a friend, and that God damn kiss was just some method acting for a role that she's playing in drama club. If you were more open, maybe I would have felt safe enough to come to you and tell you the chaste truth," Quinn lied, though it wasn't like there was zero truth to it. "Secondly… how long have you been sleeping with Sam Evans?"

Judy almost dropped her phone.

Hiram watched her stumble and quickly crossed the space between them, ready to catch her in the event that she should fall to the floor.

Steadying herself, Judy ended the call. She ran trembling fingers back through her hair as she glanced around in panic. "I've – I have to go!"

Upstairs, Rachel was peering out of her window. She watched Judy's silver Convertible manically pull off down the street…

Hiram soon poked his head around her bedroom door, and she span around to face him.

"I thought you said that you and Quinn were just potential friends?" he asked, crossing the room to sit down on the bed. "Apparently there's a video of you kissing her? I know that you're a teenager, and I know that there will be some things that you'll want to keep to yourself. But lying to my face like that?" A hurt frown passed through his features as he cast his gaze down at the carpet.

Rachel couldn't stand to see it. "Daddy, I wasn't lying when I told you that Quinn wasn't my girlfriend," she said softly. "She's not gay, and despite the fact that she's heart-wrenchingly gorgeous, I can't say that I'm attracted to her personality. That kiss was…"

Hiram looked up at his daughter.

"It was…" A sigh left her; did she want to lie to her father? Not at all. She had such a close bond with her fathers because of their openness with one another.

"Quinn and I are pretending to be an item at school, and you know me daddy. I'm a stickler for a well-paid role. And by well-paid, I mean any role at all. Even the ones that don't pay." With a small shrug she smiled, light and tentative, like a mother dipping her toe into the bath water that she'd prepared for her child.

Hiram may have found it charming if it were not for the fact that he was so confused. "Why are you pretending to be Quinn's girlfriend? Surely she can get a date to the school dance without having to hire anybody – and another girl at that."

"Well," Rachel began, sitting down on the wide windowsill, "Quinn is in love with a boy at school. They were dating, but he broke-up with her. Now she's willing to do anything to get him back," she explained, gesturing at herself as if to depict what _anything_ had amounted to. "He loves her too. But he's just being stubborn. Quinn thought that if she pretended to date me – a girl – then not only would he realize that he couldn't bear to see her with anybody else, but he would also think that he had broken her heart severely enough for her to explore romantic relationships with other girls."

It wasn't the whole truth, and Rachel wasn't happy about that. But it would just have to do for now. "She came to me because of my acting skills. I said that I would help her out because I wanted to see her get her happy ending, and because I can't resist a juicy role."

Hiram coughed into his fist, and then rubbed his chest as he swallowed. "What in the world has happened to teenagers? In my day you simply went to school and focused on your studies." His tone wasn't stern in the slightest. Just incredulous.

Maybe he was a little naïve…

_Look asshole, I know about you and my mom. You're going to meet me at Araway Grove in an hour. If you don't show up, I'm going to come to your house and cause a scene!_

Quinn's thumb worked quick to send the text message to Sam.

Once that was done, she sat there on the sofa just staring into space.

The abrupt end to her phone conversation with her mom was all the confirmation that Quinn had needed.

Truthfully, she was still in complete shock. Not to forget disgust, as that was honestly the main ingredient. Sam Evans was her age! He was a school boy, for fuck sake! Yes, he was over the age of consent. But that didn't mean a God damn thing in her mind.

Mr Simmings had paired them up for a class project. Quinn had only brought him to the house so that they could work on it together – what – five times? Despite the rumors, nothing had gone on between them. Sam had tried to get something going though, a few times. But, at the time, Quinn had shot him down at every turn. He wasn't her type.

"_No guy's hair should ever blow in the wind and look prettier than mine_," she had once told a sniggering Santana. That, and Sam was a geek in popular kid's clothing, who liked to leave his house wearing grey Zelda socks.

He was a sly little snot, Quinn concluded. She hadn't swooned at his boring little jokes, so he'd gone for the older and more desperate model.

Her mother.

Maybe the big-jawed boy had a thing for women who were already taken…

And then there was Russell to consider in all of this.

It wasn't news to Quinn that her parents despised one another. Most days didn't pass without some sort of argument. She wasn't naive enough to think that her father wasn't out sleeping with other women either. But he was a do-as-I-say-and-not-as-I-do type of guy, and if he sniffed even a particle of Sam, a tornado was going to tear through the house and leave no brick unharmed.

Quinn didn't want that. But she was going to threaten to pour just enough gasoline on the simmering fire, in order to subdue her disgrace of a mother.

After putting her phone down, she reached for a tissue and blew her stuffy nose. Sam's sock sat beside her…

The front door quietly clicked open, and swung back heavy enough to shut itself.

Judy's feet hesitated, as if scared to venture any further. She regarded her daughter carefully, attempting to size her expression up, before deciding that her nerves were getting to be too much. She took the bottle of brandy from her purse, unscrewed the cap, and put the bottle's lips to her own – gasping once every drop had swam down her throat.

Quinn swallowed hard on her already scratchy throat, but her face remained expressionless. "Did you hunt him down, like the thirsty cougar that you are?" she jabbed. "Or did he do the chasing?"

Judy figured that she should at least _try_ to act like she wasn't guilty. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, tossing the empty brandy bottle at the trash.

It missed.

"I found this in the kitchen," Quinn said, holding up the sock and eyeing it in disgust. "It's not dad's size, or his style. Zelda? The only person that I've ever seen wearing these is that geek, Sam, and I remember you flirting with him – always asking him if he wanted nibbles when he was coming over to work on our school project. He wasn't at school this morning, and then I come home to find you here! It all adds up, unfortunately. And the kitchen? Seriously? What, were the two of you hungry for snacks as well as each other?" she spat, incensed.

"Lucy Quinn Fabray!" Judy tried, standing back.

"I can't believe that I was unlucky enough to score _you_ for a mother! You're a disgrace!" Quinn shouted, finally letting the anger pour from her pores. She rubbed her nose back and forth, sniffing. "You can think that I'm a lesbian all you want, and you can think about sending me off to some facility all you want too. I'm past explaining myself. But I'm not going anywhere, and if you do _anything_ to rock the boat from now on, dad's going to get a special sock in his birthday hamper, along with the story that goes with it."

Judy shook her head as tears gleamed in her eyes. She could not believe that this person who was blackmailing her was her own daughter – the baby that she had nurtured all those years ago. Such anger etched Quinn's face.

Such anger…

Araway Grove was a seven minute walk away.

Quinn zipped her black hoodie up; her sneakers swift and graceful against the night's pavement. She could see her own breath as she powered her legs faster.

Having already contracted the flu, she knew that she should've been tucked up in bed, and not out walking the streets at seven-thirty in the evening. But she needed to speak to Sam.

Her cell phone, which was already clutched in her hand just in case Sam decided to grow some balls and text back, suddenly rocked with its usual jingle.

Quinn lifted the glowing device to her face, and glimpsed that it was Rachel who was calling.

"Hello?" she answered.

"A part of me is just phoning to be nosy about the sorcery that you worked on your mother earlier. But mostly I just wanted to check in and see if everything is alright on your end," Rachel explained, her voice compassionate and warm – if not a little upbeat.

Quinn sighed. "I'm fine."

"You sound pretty congested," Rachel softly pointed out. "I noticed earlier when we spoke, but I kind of didn't have time to mock you about it, for obvious reasons."

"Is there an actual point to this phone call?" Quinn snapped, immediately scolding herself for it. But she didn't have the wherewithal to apologize. Truthfully, she could hardly breathe.

"Yes," the brunette replied, as if everything was just that simple. "Your mother seemed to be in a lot of distress, and then she was gone – poof – just like that! She took off like a bat out of hell, leaving me worried for what would happen to you next. Apparently she mentioned sending you off to one of those conversion camps to my father. So, the point of this phone call is to check in and see if everything is alright on your end."

"Why do you care?" Quinn asked glumly, trudging along.

"I shouldn't." Rachel retorted dryly. "Foolish? Certainly. But contrary to popular belief, I don't hate you."

"Well then you're an idiot, aren't you?"

"Yes, well I think we've already just established that part," Rachel chirped, swiftly moving along: "Still, I'm not an inherently hateful person. As someone once said to me: I'm never going to be your biggest fan, and you're never going to be mine. But we can operate under mutual respect. Maybe my definition of respect is just that little bit broader than yours, hence why I deemed this phone call necessary."

Quinn slowed her gait down, although the muscles in her legs were still flexing with every step. "I think that it was Sam who sent my – Judy – that video."

"And why would you think that?" Rachel asked, failing to connect the dots.

"I don't know yet…"

"Well that was highly informative. Thank you."

"Why aren't you off texting Noelle?" Quinn probed, fancying a change of topic. "That's all you're good for these days."

Rachel sort of snorted a sardonic chuckle and scoffed at the same time. "I'm going out soon to buy some soy milk. Do you want me to pick you up something for that flu?"

…

"Tick-tock, Quinn. A simple yes or no will suffice."

The cheerleader had stopped walking altogether now. She ignored the fire in her muscles and peered down the street, just listening to the brunette breathe. "N-No. I'm fine. But… thanks for the offer."

"Ok then. Well, I'm going to get moving before the store closes."

"Bye."

"Bye Quinn."


	8. Chapter 8

**I seriously have no idea how I am getting these chapters out so quickly with all of life's obligations. Inspiration is powerful like that, I suppose. Thanks for the comments this far.**

* * *

For all of the emotion that bubbled within her, Quinn was actually thinking rather practically.

What could she do about the fact that Sam Evans had been slipping her mother some dick?

As much as she wanted to - needed to - Quinn knew that she couldn't take the violent route. Sam was bigger and stronger, and the cheerleader didn't too much like the idea of jail - because she _would_ get at least one good detrimental blow in on the boy!

But no. She had decided that she was going to stick to what she was good at. She was going to get something out of this situation. Something for herself...

So when Sam edged around the dark street corner, with his hands in his coat pockets – his face telling the story of absolute dread – Quinn was calm.

Eerily calm.

Sam had never been so intimidated by a creature that had boobs. But Quinn? She had this unparalleled knack for making him second-guess every one of his words. Every action.

Even before tonight, he had always felt the uncertainty that came with sharing the same space as Quinn Fabray. She was quick with her tongue; quick to make one feel infinitesimally small with a mere look, and she seemed to be impossible to get close to, which was why he'd been so stunned when he'd discovered that the one and only Rachel Berry had managed to break through and make a warm home for herself within Quinn's icy heart.

Unlike the cold and calculated Head Cheerleader, Judy was a lot easier to penetrate - no pun intended. This thing between them; it had all started out with flirtatious glances, and then an awkward – on his part only – exchange of numbers, which was proposed by Judy, under the paper-thin guise that she always made it a point to get the numbers that belonged to those who hung out with her daughter.

For emergency contact purposes only, of course.

The seemingly troubled older woman had then begun to randomly text him about what she was wearing, and more specifically... about what she wasn't.

Well after that, Sam had quickly found that he was weak – that he was interested in Quinn Fabray's mother, when he should not have been.

They would text and meet up in clandestine spots, where Judy would complain about work, Russell, Quinn – just life in general – before sparking up a blunt, and asking him to tell her that she was beautiful, and that she looked as young as his female peers.

Yes, Sam had been creeped out and a little intimidated at first, but he'd quickly begun to realize that the well gossiped about Judy Fabray was harmless, and that she was just worn out and broken. What's more, he had begun to realize that he wanted to be the one to fix her.

After a while he'd seen the healing within her smiles. It was like he had breathed just that little bit more life into her with each gentle kiss; even kisses as simple as a peck to the cheek.

Feelings were involved.

His feelings...

He raked unsteady fingers back through his lengthy blonde hair, and took his final steps towards Quinn, who was just staring at him like a book with blank pages.

"Do you sit around with the boys, laughing about what an easy lay she is?" were the first words to leave the shadowy form. "If my dad finds out, literally you'll be looking over your shoulder for as long as he's alive."

Sam's forehead pinched into a grimace. "Of course not. None of the boys know. I..." He swallowed, and Quinn glared at the way that his Adam's apple slowly dipped and bobbed. "I love her," he quietly confessed, his hands squirming in his coat pockets.

Quinn scoffed and looked off into the night. "Love," she echoed disdainfully. "You're like twelve-years-old, jackass! What did you think was going to happen? What, that you'd be my new step-dad? I'm older than you!" she hissed. "Don't drop the l word. You really don't want to insult me any more than you already have. I can _promise_ you that."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, just wanting to get whatever it was that Quinn had planned over and done with.

"No, I'm the one who's asking the questions here. So how long have you been subjecting her to that toad dick of yours?"

He shrugged pathetically. "I'm sorry. Really. I know that this must be, like, really screwing with your head. But I didn't mean for this to happen. She's unhappy, Quinn. She -"

"What, and you thought that the answer was your -"

"No. But it just happened!" he stressed, imploring the blonde to at least try to understand.

But Quinn's eyes merely narrowed. "How do you know that she's unhappy?" She squinted. "What's she been telling you?"

The cheerleader braced herself for the boy's answer. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't have felt more exposed or vulnerable in that moment.

"She just – I don't know – talks about your dad, and she's sad about how you treat her."

That was all the information that Quinn needed to know. Judy had been telling Sam personal things about the hostile dynamics that dominated the Fabray household.

Great!

Quinn willed away the heat in her cheeks. She was mortified, because someone else now knew what a complete and utter fucking mess her life truly was. There was no hiding from the green-eyed boy that stood in front of her. He now had the eyes to see her for what she had come from, and that was difficult to take.

_Achoo_!

She clicked her tongue, wiped her nose across her forearm, and sniffed. "Here's what's going to happen from now on, salamander lips," she snarled, "I'm going to tell you what I want, and you're going to follow through, no questions asked. If you so much as raise an eyebrow at any of my demands, I'm going to tell my father that he needs to hunt you down and maul you for sleeping with his wife. Is that clear?"

Sam blued as he pondered the prospect of Russell Fabray mauling him. He winced for every blow that his mind's theater threw his way. "Ok," he murmured, gazing down at the concrete. "What are the demands?"

"You stay away from _her_!" Quinn immediately spat, balling her pale hands at her sides.

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but knowing better he swiftly brought his lips back together and nodded, dejected. "Is that it?"

"You have a friend on Facebook – Noelle Hutchington-Chang," Quinn highlighted. "How do you know her?"

Sam frowned. What did Quinn want with Noelle? He was desperate to know, but as he understood; to ask would have resulted in death by Russell Fabray. "I uhh..." He paused, blowing breath out of his expanded cheeks and frowning, as if to summon focus.

Quinn snapped her fingers four swift times, each click ringing more loud and impatient than the last. "Get there faster, Justin Bieber!"

"I-I met her a few years ago. You know Mike Chang, who goes to Bellmont High? W-Well, Noelle's Mike's cousin," Sam nervously recalled, watching the cheerleader for any inclination as to what she might be thinking.

But to no avail.

"Does she have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend?" Quinn probed, cutting to the chase.

"As far as I know, Noelle's single. She talks about boys, but she also posts a lot of photos of beautiful and influential woman, like Dianna Agron and Lea Michelle. She's really smart, open-minded, and always talks about political issues. But I don't know – I just can't imagine her with a girlfriend. But then I would have said the same thing about… you and Rachel." He shrugged, grimacing in anticipation of whether or not his answer had been good enough…

Earlier Quinn had accepted Rachel's friend request on Facebook. She'd then searched the brunette's friend list, only to discover that not only was this Noelle friends with Rachel, but that she was also friends with Sam and a few other people that she knew too.

Ever the opportunist, Quinn had seen that as her in.

"Well she's a pretty girl, Sam," she pointed out, folding her arms as a cruel smirk matched the silver steel in her hazel eye. "You're already friends with her on Facebook, so she must not think that you're a complete ball-sack," she mused aloud, although seemingly to herself. "I want you to start to talk to her more than you already do. Throw her compliments, flirt with her, take her to the movies – whatever! Tell her that you like the color of her freaking violin if you have to! Just take up her time!"

_And keep her the hell away from Rachel_, Quinn neglected to voice aloud. She watched the boy subtly shake his head, and glared the perceived act of defiance down.

"Quinn!" Sam whined. "She's smart! She isn't gonna go for me, and it'll look weird; why would I just suddenly start flirting with her?" he asked, still grimacing in anticipation of the cheerleader's response.

He was right to grimace, and he found out why the moment that Quinn began to pat her pockets down.

"Yeah, let me just call my dad and tell him how you've been sleeping with his wife in the house that he pays for."

Sam's eyes blew wide, and his hands tugged out of his warm pockets. "No! Please – I'll do it! I'll do what you want me to do!" His eyes plead with so much more depth than his words ever could.

Nevertheless…

Quinn's pale frost-bitten hands stilled against her body. She glared at the boy. "I want a text from you every two days, with a thorough update on the situation. Got it?"

The sudden breeze that swelled up ransacked the dejected boy's long hair, pinning it to his face. He didn't even bother to tame it. He just nodded and gazed down at the pavement…

From Quinn: _What are you doing today_?

Rachel was sitting up in bed, blindly patting her kinked bed hair down as she pondered the text message. She glanced at the wall clock, taking note of the light that bled in through the blinds to kiss every surface of her room majestically. "What a beautiful morning," she mused with a wide yet still sleepy smile.

The weight of her cell phone, as it rested within her palm, brought her mind back to Quinn's text message.

What was she doing today? Well it was Saturday morning, which meant that she had absolutely nothing to do, except go through her vocal exercises. After last night's events, Rachel hadn't expected to hear from the blonde so soon. In fact, she had even pondered the possibility that their dating ruse had met its expiry date.

But it seemed that Quinn just could not get enough.

With that thought, Rachel grinned and began to tap away at her phone's screen…

At the Fabray home, Quinn was already dressed and ready to go. It was only seven-thirty AM, but her morning so far had been filled with nothing but tension; she just wanted to be somewhere else.

Judy hadn't uttered a word to her as she'd pattered down the stairs and crossed the lounge. The older woman was now in the kitchen downing shots of vodka, and had been for the last thirty minutes or so.

Russell was upstairs asleep, his snores working through the house's brickwork like deep gruff didgeridoo notes.

Quinn, who was slumped miserably on the sofa, just wanted to get out.

So when her phone buzzed, she almost dropped it in her haste to open up the message.

From Rachel: _I'm hot-wiring three cars from the Treetops Boulevard estate. I've had my eye on them for a while now. That should take about two hours – you know, allowing for stealth and all of that. But I may be able to squeeze you in if you have something important in mind_.

Not wanting to have to wait around on the back-and-forthness that came with texting, Quinn just dialed the aspiring Broadway star's number…

"Morning Quinn," Rachel gently chirped into her ear soon after.

"The school dance is next week. We need to go shopping for dresses," the blonde said, getting straight to the point.

"You sound flued up to your eyeballs. How are you going to manage shopping, which I know can be a rather rigorous activity from experience? Why aren't you in bed resting?"

Quinn sighed gruffly. "Because I have shit to do! I can rest when I'm dead – and I'm waiting for my flu medicine to kick in. Now are you coming shopping or not?"

"Not if you're going to suck the merriment out of me, no. I woke up in a very good mood this morning, and I would prefer to stay that way."

Sighing much more softly this time, Quinn closed her eyes and attempted to breathe her frustration away. "What do you want? W-What, you want me to beg?" she asked, her eyes snapping open. "Just come and get me out of this fucking house, Rachel!"

Her words echoed in her own mind. They'd sounded so desperate and dependent. Dependent on Rachel Berry. Quinn grew aware of the fact that she couldn't have written a more ironic story if she had tried. But the truth was that in the short period of time that they had spent together, Rachel had bizarrely been someone that she could lean on when it came to extreme matters. Then there was last night, when Rachel had offered to pick her up something for her flu. The brunette didn't have to do that, and the truth was that she shouldn't have wanted to.

But she had offered anyway.

"What's wrong?" Rachel decided to ask after a while.

Quinn scoffed, because what was right with her life at the moment?

"What's wrong is that you're being difficult. Why do you always have to be so difficult?" she snapped. "It's simple; I want to get out of this house, and we need to buy dresses for the dance. The two of us going shopping is logical, practical, and effective. So what's your problem?"

"My problem is that I awoke this morning feeling rather good, and I don't want to be in the presence of someone who is in such a toxic mood!" Rachel instantly shot back.

"Ok then; fine!" Quinn pushed out through her teeth. "I'll have a smile on my face and a sunny disposition by the time I see you. But you will have blackmailed me into putting it there. Know that and feel awful about it!"

"Ok, well that works for me," Rachel chirped. "Give me an hour to get ready, and -"

Quinn glanced towards the kitchen door, which was mostly made up of transparent rectangular glass panes. She watched her mother toss another shot at the back of her throat. "No! Make it thirty minutes tops! I'm not waiting an hour," she quickly told the brunette on the end of the line.

Rachel received the message loud and clear; Quinn either didn't want to be alone with her own thoughts, for whatever reason, or she didn't want to be around her parents. Sensing this, Rachel replied: "Well I'm not going to skip showering or breakfast. So it looks like the hours that I spend perfecting my hair are going to have to take the hit. I'll be there in twenty-five minutes at the most."

Quinn felt her body relax. She could feel that the conversation was coming to an end. But she wanted to thank the brunette before either of them hung up. She wanted to thank the diva, and then let her know that there was no way that she spent more than ten minutes on her hair each morning. Any longer was redundant and a waste, clearly.

Still, she settled on a quiet, "thank you."

"Careful, Quinn. One might think that we were actually becoming friends."

"Why are we still talking?"

"Because I haven't hung up on you yet," Rachel dryly retorted, without pause for breath.

"You know, if you weren't so... _you_, you'd actually make an acceptable head bitch in charge. Not a better one than me, of course. But… you're quick with your tongue."

Simply because she was an idiot, Rachel giggled. Not so much was she giggling at Quinn's inadvertent sexual innuendo; she was giggling at the blonde's obliviousness to it. "Eighty-percent of the time you can't keep up with me, Quinn. I'd make a much better HBIC than you. That wasn't even in question." She sniffed, no-nonsense with her tone. "But I wouldn't want such a title in the first place. It's not my style. I'm me, and I'm glad for that."

Quinn was sort of glad for that too, though she would take a steak to the heart before she ever admitted it out loud. "You're eating into your twenty-five minutes," she pressured the other girl.

"Calm those tits, head bitch in charge. I'll be there. When I get out of the shower, I'm expecting to find that you have texted me your address."

"That's fine. Just, please, hurry."

"I'll be as swift as fate allows. Bye."

"Bye."

Quinn ended the call and stood up. She glanced around for Judy's purse, but her eyes didn't detect even a sniff of it.

"Hey!" she growled, yanking open the kitchen door to see her mother more or less passed out and drooling as she leaned on the work surface.

The sight just fanned the flames that already raged within the blonde.

Right there and then she accepted that things between her and her mother were never going to improve. This was it. This was their relationship, or lack thereof...

Quinn blinked, and her eyes cleared of their clouds, becoming a sharp metallic green. "Where's your credit card?" she snapped impatiently.

Judy let loose a long half-conscious sigh that sounded like it may have been a burp, but other than that...

Over by the microwave sat the older woman's purse. Its shiny metallic studs called Quinn's gaze towards it.

The least that Judy could do was pay for her dress and shopping spree. It wasn't like she was good for anything else, was it?

As Quinn sat down in Rachel's car and shut the door, some twenty-five minutes later, she took a small bottle of Pineapple Schnapps out of her purse; unscrewing the cap and taking it to her glossy pink lips.

From the driver's seat, Rachel eyed her. She took note of the dark sunglasses that hid the blonde's eyes, and ignored the notion that Quinn still looked like an untouchable gorgeous Milan model, despite having the flu.

"So that's why you wanted me to drive," Rachel gleaned in response to observing the bottle of alcohol. "Don't you think that it's a little early for liquor? Not to mention that your immune system needs not to be poisoned any further."

Quinn lowered the bottle, screwed its cap back on, and wiped away the remnants of alcohol that ringed her lips. "If you want me to have the sunny disposition that I promised, then a wasted Quinn Fabray, who's also on flu medicine, is your friend. Besides," she said, putting on a syrupy smile that was so merry that it dripped sarcasm, "today's a special day. Today is the end of my struggling relationship with my mother. The end of _any_ relationship with my mother. I'm mourning, and I'm paying homage." She lifted the bottle in the air, tilting it as if to cheers an imaginary someone. "So get off of my dick and drive."

Rachel had never had a mother. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to actually have a mother, and not get along with her. Somehow that caused her to be even more empathetic.

"Quinn, what happened last night?"

"Nothing that you need to worry about," the blonde replied, looking to shut the brunette down with her cavalier voice and expression.

If she didn't give her anything to work with, she'd shut up right?

Maybe she was missing the fact that it was Rachel Berry that she was talking to…

The brunette clasped her hands in her lap, willing herself to be patient with the other girl. "Firstly, you shouldn't be drinking and taking medicine simultaneously. Secondly, I think you'll find that what happened last night _is_ something that I need to worry about, because I'm the person that you called upon to come and get you out of that house this morning."

Quinn faltered at first, her tongue fluttering undecidedly within her mouth – then she decided to force a scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. Santana and Britt were otherwise engaged. You were the last resort."

Rachel started up the engine and smirked, because the cheerleader was free to keep telling herself that if it helped her to sleep better at night.

"When we're done shopping, I'm not coming back here either. So you better think of something – kick your parents out, or whatever," Quinn suddenly protested as they rolled off down the street. She adjusted her shades about her nose and peered out of her window, already beginning to feel the slight perceptual effects of the alcohol that she had just downed.

"My parents are out golfing this morning, and they won't be home until two. If you come back to my house, it'll be a good opportunity for us to talk about whatever it is that happened last night," Rachel replied, jerking the gearshift.

"Pftt. That's what you think. It'll be a good opportunity for me to drink the rest of this alcohol, and zone out on your bed for a couple of hours, which with how anal you are – I know that I don't have to worry about the covers not being clean."

"What a lovely little backhanded compliment, Quinn. But you aren't getting anywhere near my bed, just because -"

"_Because_," Quinn interrupted, "you wouldn't know how to control yourself. I've seen the way that you stare at me, when you think I'm not looking. You've probably imagined me in my panties, or less, in that bed so really…" She smiled much too sweetly, nodding once for sardonic effect. "I get it."

Clearly Quinn was teasing her. But Rachel wasn't going to have any of it, because this was what they did; they sparred with their tongues for harmless – at least in her case – one-upmanship. "Have you learned _nothing_ about me this far? Why would I simply imagine you bare-bottom naked? I apologize for my crudeness – not really though, because you should be used to it by now – but seeing you naked in my mind's eye isn't nearly enough. I have defiled your body in every way that you can possibly imagine; whips, chains, beads, clamps, cages, handcuffs, objects that buzz, scissors -"

Quinn blinked, her smile panning flat. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say scissors, so that I don't have to report you to the police."

"Tell them. They are the ones who provide me with my equipment, believe it or not. My dad has friends on the force. Allow that to sink in, Quinn."

…

At the sweet sound of silence, Rachel repeatedly punched victorious fists into the air, relishing in just how unamused Quinn seemed to be as they eased into the next street…

Fran Merylclough walked into _Boop_ _101_.

Far from the forty-two-year-old woman's style were the slick vintage dresses, glitzy ballet flats, and skinny jeggings that clung to the chiseled mannequins. But her niece's birthday happened to be tomorrow, and all that the girl ever talked about were the dresses and shoes that _Boop 101_ stocked. She would gush about how she just had to have this, and about how she just had to have that.

Anything to shut the spoiled teenager up, right?

Fran wondered the store's laminate floors, pinching at garments to get a better look at them, before shaking her head in disapproval and letting them go.

After a while she spotted a lovely thigh-length cream dress, with golden polka dots on it. A majestically thin gold chain linked around its neck, seemingly attached to the garment.

Well, Fran was taken with it. Never mind her niece. The dress didn't exactly fit within the boundaries of Fran's style; her aged thighs had seen to that, but still…

The woman's ocean blue eyes lifted towards the clerk behind the checkout counter, and then squared out to the two girls, who were holding hands, over by the jewellery section.

Immediately horrified, she released the hem of the dress and adjusted her glasses about her face, squinting to see if her eyes were telling her the truth or not.

Surely that wasn't Judy's daughter, Quinn.

Yes, two girls could hold hands and it could mean nothing more than a platonic close bond. But as Fran noted the manner with which Quinn was stood there dragging her slightly drooped eyes up and down the other girl, who was busying herself with browsing the accessories, what other conclusion was she supposed to draw, other than…

A woman of class – someone like Judy? She would be mortified!

Ever the nosy one; Fran marched quick feet towards the two girls.

Sensing the quickly approaching presence, both Rachel and Quinn glanced over, and regarded the astutely dressed woman as if to ask her what she wanted.

Well, Quinn was more so regarding her as if to ask what her problem was. She flicked her sunglasses back down, the dark lenses cloaking her confrontational hazel eyes. But her mouth had twitched up to the side with sheer attitude.

"Can I help you?" she asked, snappish.

Fran lifted her chin, ready to take on the sin that was homosexuality. "I work with your mother. I've seen photos of you on her desk, and she talks very highly of you," she tightly explained, glancing down scornfully at the hands that were clasped between the two girls. "I don't think that she'd be best pleased if I told her about your… less than chaste relationship with this young lady here. She would be mortified, and here you are swanning about in public and flaunting your immorality!" she quietly hissed, careful not to alert any of the other people in the store.

Although the bigotry that oozed from the older woman flared anger within Rachel's chest and narrowed her brown eyes, she told herself that she wouldn't blow up, because this was Quinn's situation to handle in whichever way that she saw fit, especially after Judy had seen them kissing in that video clip.

So the brunette looked to the cheerleader, letting it be known that she was ready to take any and all cues from her.

Still, she didn't see _it_ coming...

Quinn's free hand suddenly slid around the back of her neck, and urged her in for a kiss that turned out to be over-the-top and crude once their lips actually began to fuse.

Taken aback, Rachel reflexively tried to pull back a little, but the blonde's soft, insistent, strawberry-flavored mouth chased after the heat of her own; pulling, capturing gasps, and oh so dominant. To add to the fervour of it all, Quinn tugged the hand that was still clutching the brunette's, and as planned the diva's front collided into her own with a gentle but sensual thud.

Although she was still somewhat startled, Rachel determined that she was just going to have to go along with the animalistic rhythm of Quinn's mouth, before said mouth swallowed her whole...

When they slowly came apart, Rachel played her eyes for dazed love hearts; shining them up at her supposed lover. "Baby, I didn't know that you felt so passionately about me," she cooed through a delighted grin, knowing that this was the only opportunity that she would get to stick it to the homophobic woman.

"Don't be silly, sweetie," Quinn chirped, angling her neck so that she could look her mother's uptight co-worker straight in the eye as she purred, "I'm passionate enough about you to bend you over those _church_ _pews_," she stressed, "and give it to you in the way that the good Lord loves to see."

Even Rachel was floored by what her ears had just heard, but nobody would have known it. Not with the overly sexual smirk that she had instructed her face to perform as she, too, regarded the older lady and winked.

"You two are despicable!"

Before the two girls could subject Fran Merylclough's eyeballs to anymore debauchery, she twirled on her heels and hot-footed it straight out of the store, her face shriveling with untold ire.

Her niece, Kelly, would just have to make do with something from _Forever __21_…

"Quinn!" Rachel immediately scolded, stepping out of the cheerleader's space. "I don't wish to take anything away from that performance because that last little barb was absolute gold! But my father's and I have seen enough of your mother to last us a lifetime. I'm not sure what you told her to get her to leave my home last night, but abusing my lips like that in front of her co-worker will surely undo your work."

What was visible of Quinn's face didn't twitch in the slightest. She rectified the space between them with a small step towards the frenzied shorter girl. "The only thing that I'm sorry for is potentially infecting you with the flu, because – as you know – we have to spend time together, and I don't want you to give it back to me once I'm over it."

Having said that, she nonchalantly spun around and continued to browse the articles of jewellery.

Behind her, Rachel folded her arms and glared holes into the back of Quinn's head. She defiantly ignored the sweet strawberry lip gloss that she could taste on her own lips.

She wanted answers.

Why would Quinn opt to kiss her in front of one of Judy's co-workers? And in such a boastful and defiant way too. It just – it failed to make any sense at all, and especially after last night's events.

"What aren't you telling me, Quinn?" she suspiciously asked, walking around the blonde and standing right in front of her. "Why do you not seem to care about your mother hearing about that kiss? And she _will_ be hearing about it, because that woman was – for lack of a better term – a fully-fledged bitch."

Quinn shrugged a shoulder, adjusted her sunglasses, and stared off over the brunette's head. "A little power-play went down last night. I won. I can do whatever the hell I want, as long as my dad doesn't find out, which he won't if Judy does her job right. That's all you need to know."

"You need to stop treating me like the oblivious housewife, Quinn. When our circumstances change, I need to know. You neglected to tell me that your mother had received that video too, leaving me completely ill-equipped for her sudden appearance at my house!"

Quinn ran her hand back through the – for once – loose blonde waves that framed her face, tussling it. "Keep your voice down. I have everything under control," she growled, walking around the brunette to get to the beautiful collection of dresses that hung towards the front of the store. "Quit nagging me, get over here, and come look for a dress already!"

Rachel didn't know what was going on with the cryptic blonde today, but she knew that she was going to get the truth before the sun went down. That much was certain…

A little while later she caught sight of a strapless dress that simply blew her mind. She was almost certain that she had stopped breathing. Sure the garment was a tad revealing, with its scandalously short hem, form-hugging fabric, and arcs that would most likely make one's bust appear full and supple. But its elegant black somehow managed to counter that.

"Wow. This is an extraordinarily appealing dress," she mused, feeling around the soft fabric for the price tag.

Her eyes grew like balloons as they took in the actual fee. "The prices in this store are downright appalling!" she loudly complained, glancing over towards a nearby assistant in the hopes that she would hear her and do something about the problem.

Quinn, who had already found her dress and some earrings to go along with it, rolled her eyes. She was really starting to understand that Rachel most definitely had an aggressive and confrontational side to her. The blonde didn't think that she would ever get those traits to sit with those awful Argyle sweater vests and Penny Loafers…

But aside from that, the prices were not that steep, especially when you were carting around your mother's gold card.

"Way to break the cheap Jew stereotype," Quinn jibed with another roll of the eyes. She checked the size of the dress, snatched it from the rack, and sauntered over to the checkout counter, where she almost snobbishly told the clerk to ring them up.

Once Rachel realized what was happening, she sort of froze.

Thankfully, her feet remembered how to work after a few seconds. She quickly took them after the cheerleader. "Quinn, I can't say that I'm not thoroughly warmed by this largely generous yet unexpected gesture, but I don't want you spending such an obscene amount of money -"

"Shut up, before I find something else to buy you."

The clerk, who was ringing each item up, watched the pretty blonde girl repeatedly hush the brunette. He couldn't help but grin fondly; how many times had he now seen the story of the generous spender and the reluctant yet swooning recipient?


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for all of the love. I apologize for the delay.**

* * *

Sam Evans had determined that he was love-sick. He hadn't eaten a thing. Hadn't slept so much as a wink. He hadn't even put product in his hair, and he wasn't going to either, which would inevitably prompt questions from his inquisitive little sister; she would want to know why his hair looked funny, and then she would giggle and go back to making her Barbie dolls claw one another's weave out over Ken.

Judy looked like Barbie...

Was this how Romeo and Juliette had felt?

He wondered; what was Judy doing now? Was she rolling a blunt, crying, cooking, sick? Where was she?

And for the most important question of them all...

Was she mourning for the abrupt loss of their connection, like he was?

Sat at his computer, Sam sighed and ruffled his product-free mane. He was going to have to pack his feelings of grief away, and slide the bursting box aside to be dealt with another time, because Quinn had demanded that he promptly pursue another girl.

Noelle Hutchington-Chang.

It had been fifteen minutes since he'd sent her that first message on Facebook. The little chat tab was still open, giving him a chance to continuously go over what he'd written, and obsess over everything that was perhaps wrong with it.

_Hey. What's up_? _xxx_

That was it – the full extent to which he had typed. Would the smart girl neglect to respond to the vague message, or would the vagueness pique her curiosity?

He received his answer no more than five minutes later, when the open chat box bleeped and grew lengthier with a response.

_Hey Sam :) Not much. Just got home from a charity event, and I'm about to pick out an outfit for Mike's party tonight. Did you get an invite? If not, I'm inviting you. Some other people from McKinley are coming too, so you won't be completely outnumbered by us Bellmont attendees. Lord help us – unlimited alcohol and teens from opposing schools! :o Should be fun though. X_

No, Sam had not received an invite. Or maybe he had, and he just couldn't remember. Who actually paid any attention to their Facebook event invitations anyway? Sam didn't.

Still, he poised his fingers over the keyboard and went with his first thought.

_No. No invite :(_

_: / lol. Well, you'll be able to gain admission by attending with me ;)_

Sam must have read that message at least ten times, all whilst trying to figure out whether or not Noelle was flirting with him.

Was she?

He decided that he should just ask…

_Do you mean like a date? Because that would be awesome :)_

The happy little smile that he'd tagged on the end could not have been any further from his actual expression, which was so glum and anxious that the plant on the other side of the room just may have begun to wilt.

**Noelle is typing...**

_Not going to lie; I'm pretty flattered right now! Didn't know you were interested. But I'm already kind of interested in someone, and for once I'm serious enough about this person not to stray whilst I'm pursuing them lol. Otherwise I may have jumped at the chance ;)_

Sam's jaw grew tight; frustration prickling his forehead enough to call up a frown. He slid his palm over his mouth, holding it there as he tried to figure out what to do, and what to type back.

**Noelle is typing...**

_I can hear you wondering who it is from here hehe. Clue number one: you're friends with them on Facebook. x_

Noelle's use of gender-neutral pronouns wasn't lost on Sam. How many more people were going to come out of the closet this year?

Whatever though. If he could just get a name then he could report the information back to Quinn, and hopefully that would be enough to keep her from telling her father about…

_Is this someone __that you like __a she_?

No sooner than he had hit enter, Noelle responded.

_Hmmm. What makes you ask me that_? _Lol_.

_You didn't say he or she. Gender-neutral pronouns lol : )_

**Noelle is typing...**

_Lmao! __If you come to the party yo__u'll probably __figure__ out who I'm a little gaga over right now. __My eyes seem to have one setting at the moment, and that's the dreamy gaze setting lol. I'm a little surprised that they haven't yet noticed that I'm interested to be honest. __I'__m __about to__ text __this __special someone i__n the hopes that they have nothing else to do __tonight __but show up at the party. Fingers crossed! x_

Yep! Noelle was a hopeless case, Sam concluded. She wasn't interested and that was that. A part of him was sort of relived about that though, because his lips didn't seem to know how to give compliments, or the flirtatious smirks, to anybody who wasn't Judy anymore.

But this new development? It was probably going to result in Quinn spitting on his watery unmarked grave once Russell had murdered him.

Sam still didn't actually know why the ruthless cheerleader had sent him after Noelle in the first place. Did the two girls even know one another? Was Quinn, herself, Noelle's crush?

His fingers began to patter away before he could even question whether or not it was wise to ask.

_Do you know Quinn Fabray_?

_Stunning blonde cheerleader_, _right_?

_Y__eah. Do you know her_?

**Noelle is typing...**

Sam tapped his bare foot to the carpet as he waited…

_I don't know her per se. Obviously I've seen her around. But I've never really spoken to her. Yesterday a friend of mine told me that she's gay? If that's valid, I'm not particularly happy about it, because if some of the things that I've heard about her through the grapevine are true, then you heterosexuals could have kept her lmao!_

You heterosexuals?

There it was – confirmation that Noelle was, in fact, bisexual!

A shiver rippled through Sam's spine, though he had no idea why this new information seemed to hold so much weight. Without his conscious permission, his mind cast him back to last night. Quinn had been pretty insistent about him taking up Noelle's time – about him being a distraction!

Then it struck him like a dumb bell right between the eyes.

"Rachel," he whispered at his surroundings, recalling the few times that he'd seen Noelle and the brunette wall post – as well as tag – one another on Facebook.

The posts hadn't struck him as flirtatious in the slightest, but as he knew how controlling and possessive Quinn Fabray could be, it made sense that she wouldn't want another girl, who was also interested in girls, to interact with her girlfriend in any capacity, hence sending him out to... romantically distract Noelle?

Like an investigator whose promotion hinged on a case breakthrough, he quickly ducked his head to type out what he felt he already knew.

_I've seen you __tag Rachel Berry on here__ more than a few times now_. _I don't know. You guys could just be friends. But is she __the person you like__?__ If she is, she's already dating Quinn Fabray : / xxx_

After twenty minutes of no activity, the PC monitor faded to its Zelda screensaver, leaving Sam in limbo...

The well-dressed waiter carefully placed the plate of Fettuccine Alfredo down on the table, and smiled apologetically at Rachel, who didn't seem much amused at all.

"I ordered this Fettuccine Alfredo up to thirty minutes ago; I've been keeping an eye on my watch," she stated, peering up at the man with stern expectancy, as if to ask him what he was going to do to rectify the situation.

Quinn, who was sitting opposite the unsatisfied brunette, slowly slid her hand over the bottle of alcohol that wouldn't stop poking its neck out of her purse. She eyed the fumbling waiter boredly, and then dragged her dead gaze towards Rachel, whose lips were blurring at full rant-mode speed.

Great!

She could have punched Rachel's parents for arriving home from their little golf outing early – something about the golf course falling in on itself, or something. If it were not for that, Quinn was sure that she'd be passed out on the brunette's bed, drunk and devoid of all thought, by now.

No such luck.

Instead she was sat in Morgan's Grill, sharing an intimate table for two with Rachel, whilst sneaking ineffective sips from her bottle of booze, as opposed to just gulping it back – without pause for breath – like she'd planned to.

Great!

She sighed, patiently tucking a few soft golden strands of her hair behind her pale ear.

"I – we'll knock a couple of dollars off of your meal," the waiter eventually compromised, smiling tightly as he preened the upscale black bow that rested at his neck. "How about that?"

Rachel nodded, immediately grinning, and although her grin shone pleasantly at the well-dressed man, it also possessed smug hints of victory.

She was a sucker for a discount and always had been.

"Thank you. I would appreciate that," she said, as she tucked the provided napkin into the neck of her sweater, and rolled up her sleeves; eager to fill her gurgling stomach.

The waiter took her response as a cue for his dismissal, and hurried off with a weary sigh.

Quinn couldn't have been more grateful for his swift exit.

"Finally," she griped, lifting the already uncapped Pineapple Schnapps bottle to her lips for a hearty swig.

As she gulped down each fruity yet strong mouthful, her sight seemed to zero in on Rachel. She watched with care; the way that Rachel used the silver cutlery to shape the heavily sauced pasta – to make each bite a fit for her mouth. The way that Rachel's defined tan jaw churned as she flickered absent brown eyes around the restaurant.

Quinn had always thought that there was something incredibly vulnerable about the act of eating. She wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that everyone had to eat – a universal weakness. Or maybe her notion had something to do with how lost one could get in the celebration of flavor that caressed the taste buds – often becoming oblivious to surroundings, to the facial expressions that they were pulling.

Kind of like Rachel was right now.

Well Quinn would bring her back, and with a thud, she somewhat impishly decided.

She lowered the small bottle back into her purse, and then narrowed serious hazel eyes at the – for once – quiet brunette. "Well after today it's official," she announced, her features bending to reflect comical disgust. "You're a cheapskate! God help your kids when it comes to Christmases and birthdays. All of their toys are probably going to be homemade. I better get the number to social services on speed dial."

Rachel's looked up from her food, her jaw slowing. She rested an elbow on the table for support; her petite shoulders trembling under the command of the laughter that she was forced to stifle with the back of her hand. "I'm eating," she whined after a while, though it was muffled thanks to her mouthful of pasta. "Do not make me laugh when I'm..."

Fresh waves of eye-crinkling mirth stole and wilted her intended words, compressing them in her throat until they were nothing but quiet squeaky, almost painful sounding, rasps.

Quinn's eyes dropped just in time to catch the brunette's throat gently bob with a swallow.

Like that of a yawn, the sight was contagious; she found herself swallowing too.

"I'm merely conscious of the money that I spend," Rachel chortled gently, once she'd somewhat recovered from her fit enough to get her words out.

She gave herself a moment to further compose her breathing, and only then did she begin to merrily fork together the pasta on her plate.

"As for my children, you needn't worry. They are going to get the best, simply because after our interesting little visit to _Boop 101_, I now know how generous you can be. You're going to be their Godmother." The brunette nodded as though that was that. "I'm going to put a tremendous amount of pressure on you to deliver more and more expensive presents each year. You'll be penniless within three years, and then I'll take you in, where you'll earn your keep by way of watching the kids when I want to spoil my lovely wife with cheap yet romantic weekend getaways. You'll shine her shoes, and I'll prop my feet up on your back as we watch television – our very own Cinderella!"

Quinn simply blinked at first, and then took to glancing around to see if anybody else was aware of the fact that the girl across from her was a lunatic.

Not one person dared to meet her eye, which only served as confirmation that they were afraid to even look in her direction because Rachel was a lunatic!

"I'd steal you wife. Why would she want to be with you, with me sleeping in the next room?" the blonde quipped. "I would sleep with her and record it for your viewing pleasure."

"Why would she want a bruised up babysitter when she's married to a wonderful Broadway star? And you _will_ suffer bruises, consequence of me karate chopping you in your gut for messing up the chores. Also, why leave me out? My wife and I would tag-team the stuffing out of that pale derriere of yours, Quinn. Sex with us would be just another one of the house rules for you."

...

"Judging by the bleak face that you're pulling, it's clear to me that you don't feel as though you can handle the job. Well that's just tough titties isn't it, sweetie? You're hired... for all of it." With that said, Rachel pooched her plump bottom lip out and whimpered, momentarily feigning pity for the blonde, before swiftly dropping the act and going back to eating her food.

Not a care in the world... save the goofy smirk that she hadn't been able to suppress.

Surprisingly, the mention of sex with Rachel and her shadowy wife hadn't wrinkled Quinn's nose like the mention of the word Godmother.

Children, in general, were a fucking nightmare, much less Rachel Berry's spawn.

In her mind's eye she could just see them now; running around noisily and being the absolute unadulterated pests that their annoying mother had taught them to be.

Now she definitely needed more alcohol. The entire world would once those brats arrived...

She scoffed and glanced around to make sure that none of the members of staff were looking, before she lifted the bottle from her bag, with an unsteady sluggish hand, and gulped down the remainder of its strong tropical contents.

"Quinn," Rachel suddenly spoke up; tentative. "I've stood by all morning and said very little about your seemingly desperate quest for intoxication. But I'm not comfortable with remaining silent any longer -"

Quinn tensed; she knew what was coming next. "Stay out of it!" she interrupted, quiet but gruff – but mostly just congested. "I'm not going into detail about what happened last night, just like you won't go into detail about how much you like Noelle!"

Well, if that hadn't been a burn...

Rachel had flinched at the intensity of the heat. Mostly because it had been so abrupt.

Had they not just been teasing one another within the parameters of their usual banter moments ago?

Still, she wasn't about to let the clearly troubled blonde deter her from her point.

"Am I drinking like a fish, and potentially destroying my liver because of my friendship with Noelle?" she asked Quinn, though she never gave the cheerleader a chance to answer – "No I'm not."

She popped a small forkful of pasta into her mouth, chewing as she sifted through what she wanted to say next...

"Look -"

"Firstly, I don't engage in power-play with my parents, and if I were to I certainly wouldn't win," the seemingly riled yet outwardly composed brunette interrupted. "Secondly, you've been carrying alcohol around, gulping it down whenever an opportunity presents itself, and when I picked you up from your home this morning you rather dramatically stated that your relationship with your mother was over, whilst knocking bottles with a disembodied presence in what seemed to be a rather sombre toast. I'm simply inquiring about what took place last night out of genuine concern. Not out of nosiness, unlike your invasive inquiries regarding whether or not I'm having sex with my friend."

Quinn held her slightly swaying hand up to quell the brunette's quick lips. She'd heard enough, and perhaps the young couple to the left, who seemed to be listening intently, had too….

Her reddened nostrils flared as she slammed her palm down on the table. Loudly!

The plateful of Fettuccine Alfredo trembled, as did the empty Pineapple Schnapps bottle, which rolled from her lap and fell to the floor, emitting a few hollow glassy thuds at her feet.

But Quinn didn't hear anything. "Quit pushing!" she hissed. "God, it's like you don't know when to stop! And could you be any louder? Just eat your food, and leave me alone before I lose it!"

Making it a point to ignore the many concerned – and in some cases just downright prying – glances that then befell them, Rachel placed her cutlery down. "I'm not entirely sure why, but I seem to have lost my appetite. Oh right!" she chuckled falsely, waving Quinn off as if to tell her that she had managed to figure out what the problem was all by herself. "The partway drunk girl, who's sitting across from me, has just thumped the table and set my heart off ten to the dozen. Aha! _That_ must be why my appetite has left me."

Rachel pushed her plate away and sat there pinning the defiant blonde with a steely glare, which seemed to bubble something vulnerable beneath the initial surface.

She was aware of the fact that Quinn was going through some sort of emotional turmoil, and that maybe she was pushing the issue when she perhaps should not have, but mostly the aspiring Broadway star was just feeling disheartened, and much annoyed at herself for believing that the cheerleader was actually sort of becoming her friend.

What had the generous dress purchase been about? It had been quite the large gesture if the price tag had been anything to go by, and the brunette had just sort of been under the impression that it would symbolize a new chapter in their peculiar relationship – a friendlier and more open chapter.

But perhaps not…

"I think that it would be a good idea for you to return my dress to the store," Rachel concluded, peering down at her food. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and then looked into the blonde's glassy yet hazed golden eyes. "I don't accept such expensive gifts from those that are aggressive towards me. It sends entirely the wrong message – that I'll endure such treatment because I've accepted such gifts. I won't be bought off by anybody."

At the sound of those softly spoken yet principle words, Quinn sighed, her heavy eyelids flickering closed with the heavy exhalation. She passed her hand over her face, frowned, wet her pink lips, and then parted them to speak –

But words were elusive.

She fought the urge to bash her forehead against the table, to the point that forensic professionals would have to drop by to bag and tag her discarded bloody brains.

The truth was that she was ashamed. Ashamed of her mother. Ashamed of the home that she had come from. She didn't want to talk about what a fuck-up her mother was! In fact, the reason why she was currently sat in Morgan's Grill, with the brunette, was because she didn't want to have to think about it! Much less talk about it!

It was harrowing enough to think that Sam knew all about the atrocities that went down in the Fabray household.

Quinn didn't think that she could handle Rachel knowing too. Though she wasn't sure when she'd started to care, so much, about what Rachel Berry thought of her.

She was sure about one thing though.

She wasn't returning that dress!

"We're not taking the dress back," she voiced, petulantly shoving away the small salt container with the pad of her finger. "You'll wear it, and we'll be the best dressed couple at the dance next week."

Rachel grew huffy. One could see it within her shoulders. She pointedly pushed the salt cellar back towards Quinn's side of the table.

If the blonde wanted pettiness, she'd get pettiness.

"I am not the kind of girl who you can just kick in the ribs, and then shower with expensive gifts, Quinn Fabray. We're not even friends; our relationship is unstable at best. I'm going to accept some fault, because I was wrong to let you purchase me anything in the first place. The dress is going back, and that's final. For you, this is about control. Not about you simply wanting me to accept your gift, because you would like me to have it."

"If I push the salt towards you, you're going to push it back. _That's_ about control, for _you_. So don't get too comfortable on that unstable at best high horse, Rachel!" Quinn mocked, slurring every five or six words just from the intensity of her tone alone.

"No!" Rachel quickly whispered back. "I'd push it back to let you know that you are not in control. I do not want the control. I just don't want you to think or feel like you have it! You may pull the strings at school, but I have long since cut mine," she clarified, scissoring her middle and index finger through the air. "Now I do not generally wish to come across as rude and unappreciative, because when people who actually give a damn about me buy me gifts, I delight in the joy of it. But I -"

The brunette grew quiet when Quinn suddenly snatched the salt, and slowly drew it towards the midpoint of the table.

It stood there between them, like a white flag.

Equal…

"You're keeping the dress." Quinn rolled her eyes at her tone, and began again: "I mean, I _want_ you to keep the dress," she corrected herself, whilst watching the salt so that she wouldn't have to face the windows to Rachel's soul. Why were her shades always buried at the bottom of her purse when she needed them most? "Not only because you were too much of a cheapskate to get it for yourself, but because it would look nice on you," she later added.

"I'm… not a cheapskate. I'm smart with my money, but I appreciate the latter compliment," Rachel replied, rubbing soothing circles into her sternum as she relaxed in her seat.

She seemed kind of traumatized, Quinn noted.

Maybe a wasted Quinn Fabray, who was also on flu medicine, hadn't been the best thing for the brunette after all. Not that the cheerleader had actually managed to get wasted, unfortunately.

But then again, maybe it was a good thing that she wasn't wasted. Quinn was a sexual drunk – _loved_ to lord her sexual prowess over those that were foolish enough to get caught in her flirtatious web. Her forty seconds beneath Noah Puckerman, that night, were proof of that, as was the time that she had allowed a drunken Santana to kiss and grind on her a little bit, whilst a giggling Brittany had watched and cheered them on, like a movie director.

The blonde grimaced as she recalled those events, yet ironically she still wanted more alcohol, if not for anything else but to silence such vivid memories…

_Bzzt_!

Rachel's ears quickly piqued at the sound of her ringtone. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket, fished out her cell phone, and lifted it to her ear without bothering to glance at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey Rach, it's just me."

Rachel's expression immediately blossomed. "Noelle," she chirped, unable to contain her smile. "What's going on? Oh right – well I'm not doing much. I'm just out with…" She stalled, glancing across the table at the cheerleader, who now seemed sorely unamused.

"Are you out with Quinn?" Noelle suddenly chimed into the brunette's ear.

The question struck Rachel as kind of odd, since she had never really spoken to the talented violinist about her relationship with Quinn. She adjusted her grip on her phone and replied. "Yes. I am. Why do you ask?"

"I was just talking to Sam Evans on Facebook. He told me that you and Quinn are dating, which I was kind of shocked to hear, because you have never said anything about her to me," Noelle explained, her tone bright.

Maybe too bright.

Rachel frowned and sort of chuckled the awkwardness away. "Are you reprimanding me for neglecting to tell you about her? Is that what is happening right now?"

"Not at all!" Noelle answered. "I just wondered why you wouldn't mention anything about her. You're lucky though. She's breathtakingly beautiful, even if the things that I have heard about her are less than commendable?"

Rachel took her gaze over Quinn's petulant facial expression. "I'm not sure if I'm that lucky, to be honest with you. But, on the plus side, she's spends money on me and she's great in the sack, so that more than makes up for all of the crap that she insists on putting me through."

…

"Too much information?" the brunette asked, sort of grimacing and grinning simultaneously.

Noelle chuckled, though it sounded rather dim and forced. "Perhaps."

Still, Rachel disregarded her niggling suspicions and continued to be merry. "You complain when I say nothing. You complain when I tell you things. I can't win with you, can I?"

"We have to help you find a balance," Noelle suggested, chuckling once more. It tapered off much too quickly to have been genuine though. "Hey listen, Mike's throwing a party tonight. Please say you'll come?" she whined. "I haven't seen you in way too long, and I want to grill you about Fabray."

The restaurant had quietened down; meaning that Quinn could just about hear what was being spoken into the aspiring Broadway star's ear.

"If you're going to this party, then I'm going too," she mouthed, adamant.

Despite the fact that Quinn's mind already seemed to be made up, Rachel chewed the inside of her cheek, taking the time to assess whether or not she, herself, felt up to attending the party.

"I'm not all that sure that I am in the mood for a party, Elle," she eventually sighed into the phone. "I'll just bring everyone else down with my lectures about what alcohol actually does to the human body. Most will wilt with depression once they learn the truth, and others will assemble to kick me out of said party, all whilst you play a melancholic song on your violin, and encourage onlookers to toss coins into your tin."

"Aside from the fact that I am displeased with that answer, I love your goofy mind. You are hilarious!"

"Aww. Thank you," Rachel cooed, visibly touched by the praise. "I love your goofy mind too."

Quinn, who was no longer content with biding her time, decided that she had heard and seen enough!

"Give me that phone!" she quietly demanded, reaching across to grab the shiny device, only for the brunette to lean out of reach and repeatedly swat her pale floppy hand away.

"I only have limited time to speak, because the girl that I am currently calling my girlfriend is being a-a…" Rachel regarded the flailing blonde for vocabulary inspiration, and the right word came swift and appropriate. "A **boob**!" she huffed.

Noelle laughed heartily, and then sniggered out, "I'm going to text you the party details, in the hopes that you'll change your mind and show up. Ok?"

"A-Alright! Thank you for the invitation. I will definitely consider showing up – sit down, Quinn! This is the last time that I am ever going to allow you to drink in my presence. You've been nothing but a nuisance!"

"Err… it's no problem, sweets," Noelle slowly replied, unsure as to whether the brunette was even still listening. She could hear a little turbulence in the background. Nevertheless she continued. If Rachel could hear, she'd respond right? "Hopefully I'll see you later, but if I don't then enjoy the rest of your day."

"Ok then. Provided that we don't see one another, I hope that you enjoy the rest of your day too. Bye," Rachel said, now stood up behind her chair so that Quinn couldn't reach her.

"Bye Rach."

With that, the line went dead…

Quinn slid back into her own seat. "You love her goofy mind?" she echoed, unamused and bitter.

Rachel hadn't heard a word though. Her eyes were lost within her cell phone's screen, her lips wordlessly mouthing small fragments of the previous phone conversation…

Her mind combing through all of the little tells that had suggested that maybe Noelle liked her romantically.

She slipped her phone back into her coat pocket, and coiled her fingers around the black metal frame that comprised her chair's intricately patterned back. "I think that Noelle may be romantically interested in me," she voiced, both at herself and Quinn.

"What did I tell you?" Quinn scolded, not missing a beat.

Rachel glared, pressed her palms to the table, and enunciated, "you told me that _I_ was interested in _her_, which I knew to be false. You also said that she and I were dating, which I also knew to be false. You didn't mention a thing about her being interested in me, which I was not aware of at the time – if my hunch is even correct."

Quinn caught herself and frowned, scratching her head. "So – wait – you're really _not_ interested in Noelle? B-But I saw that – that _look_!" she stressed, her jaw falling open. She then folded her arms. "So now you're acting even when you don't know you are. Great! Keep this up and they'll swap Rodger the alien, from American Dad, out for you."

In response all she received was an over-it sigh and an eye roll.

Rachel drew her chair back out and sat down. She clasped her hands atop the table, thinking her next course of action through. "She seemed a little dejected when I confirmed that you and I were dating - and then I went on to make that ridiculously insensitive joke about you being good in the sack. I feel bad," she mused wistfully, further whining: "I don't want to hurt her feelings, but I fear that our ruse already has."

Quinn rolled her eyes. If she'd wanted to watch a bad lesbian TV show, she would have pulled one up on Netflix by now.

"Rachel, you need to tell this bunny boiler to back off. I know how this works. Do you think that finding out that someone's taken has ever stopped me? If she likes you – which I can't for the life of me figure out why – then she's going to push, and then I'm going to have to _push_ her off of a cliff." She shrugged, as if such a course of action was no problem at all. "If Finn hears about her trying anything, operation Rachel-Berry-sexual could fall apart, and I'm not going to allow that! She now knows that you and I are dating, so she needs to stay in her bunny boiling lane!"

"You say that like we're actually dating," Rachel absently murmured, still no better at peace regarding Noelle being romantically interested in her.

A pale hand suddenly waved before her glazed over brown eyes. The brunette realized that it belonged to Quinn, and promptly swatted it away. "If you're not going to help me figure out how to preserve my friendship with Noelle, now that she probably thinks that I was intentionally lying to her about you, then I don't want to hear anything from you at this time. Thank you," she huffed, frustrated.

"Well if you aren't going to tell her to back off, then I will. Where is this party, and what time is it?" Quinn asked.

When Rachel's lips remained sealed, the blonde shrugged. "You think I won't be able to find out?"

_Achoo_!

"God dammit!" Quinn grumbled, sniffling.

"There will be alcohol there, as well as Noelle. Do you really think that I am going to allow you to attend that party, Quinn?" Rachel challenged, knowing that she couldn't actually stop the blonde. But she could try.

A stern tone could go a long way, right?

"What, are you afraid that the bunny boiler will realize that she's crushing on the wrong girl?"

"Hardly – and she is _not_ a bunny boiler!"

"Pfft! I'm going to this party. Whether you want to tag along or not is entirely up to you. Noelle and I need to have a little chat."

Concerned, Rachel side-eyed the overly invested cheerleader. "The two of you do not need to have a chat, Tony Soprano! I will handle it! This situation is potentially messy enough, without you injecting yourself into the equation. You're taking this role much too seriously, Quinn – and when **I** have to tell you that, you **know** you're in trouble!"

Quinn pondered that statement.

Ok, so maybe she _was_ taking her role a little too seriously. But the rest of her plan, which entailed rubbing her romance with Rachel in Finn's face before she took him back, hinged on people believing that Rachel solely belonged to her, and that she solely belonged to Rachel.

Noelle needed to know her role!

And if Quinn had anything to say about it, the bunny boiler would be exiting stage left sooner rather than later...


	10. Chapter 10

**You guys are really generous. Thanks for all of the comments. Let's get into this chapter :) Pardon any errors.**

******Edited: To the guest reviewer, Em, a bunny boiler is someone who has become obsessed with their object of attraction - usually after being rejected or spurned. Bunny boiler is also a term that is used to describe people who stalk their object of attraction. The terms originate from the movie Fatal Attraction, which I have never actually watched lol. I did edit the last chapter to post this, but I'm not arrogant enough to assume that you read that chapter multiple times ;)**

* * *

Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, Rachel sat down on her bed and sighed. For the umpteenth time that evening, she found herself peering down at the message that she'd, hours ago, composed on her phone.

_Hey Elle. I was just wondering if it would be possible for you to drop by my house before you go to Mike's party? Not to pick me up or anything, as I'm still no better in the mood to attend. I would just like to talk to you, and I would rather not do it over the phone. It pertains to nothing serious, so you needn't fret : ) X_

The somewhat conflicted brunette allowed her thumb to hover over the send option, tentative yet resolute.

She had a decision to make.

The long and short of it was that Quinn had backed her into a corner. At Morgan's Grill, earlier in the day, the tipsy cheerleader had not minced her words, and neither had she cloaked her meddlesome intentions during the ride home, despite the brunette's staunch cautionary protests.

However unwarranted, the reality of the situation was clear. Quinn was going to attend Mike's party for no reason other than to threaten Noelle away, which would only lend further tension to an already precarious situation that had very little – if not nothing – to do with her.

It was invasive. It was uncalled for, and it was downright out of line!

Whether she was conscious of it or not, Rachel narrowed her eyes at nothing in particular and slowly shook her head in disbelief. How dare Quinn seek to sabotage her flourishing friendship with the tall talented violinist?

And for what?

The sake of her own selfish plan?

Rachel scoffed. She would down a whole bottle of vodka – which was _never_ going to happen – before she allowed the selfish cheerleader the power to interfere with her friendship. Not that Noelle was an easy person to deter, but aside from that stood the mere principle of the matter!

Rachel had made up her mind. She was going to revoke Quinn's leverage, and if such event led to the combustion of Operation Faberry, well then so be it!

Noelle's friendship was more important.

Without further delay, Rachel's thumb came down on the shiny device's screen.

_Message sent_.

No more than ten minutes later, she received a response.

From Noelle: _Sure, sweets. Though I'm definitely feeling like I have an appointment with my principle now. A little nervous, so thanks lol. But as I'm always happy to see your face, I'll see you in thirty. X_

Rachel's shoulders relaxed somewhat. Now she just had to figure out how she was going to deliver the truth to her friend, without coming off as an underhand deceptive toad...

Dark bags circled, like murky swamp water, beneath Quinn's drooped weary eyes.

Exhausted.

Unsightly.

Unattractive.

Her reflection in her closet mirror had taken to tossing all sorts of unflattering descriptives at her, all whilst scolding her for her untoward behaviour in Morgan's Grill earlier.

Since sobering up, and regaining her critical judgment skills, Quinn had undergone a slight change of heart. She'd gleaned that storming into Mike's party, snatching Noelle by the scruff of her neck, and hollering at her, wasn't going to achieve a thing.

Rachel would probably never speak to her again, which would inevitably lead to the succinct liquidation of the plan... as well as the succinct liquidation of whatever the hell it was that one would call their relationship.

Then there would be Finn; waiting with open arms and a smug grin – knowing that he could just drop her and pick her back up as he pleased – messing with her popularity status in the process.

No. Storming into Mike's party and telling Noelle to back off would only turn the heat up.

The old Quinn Fabray, the one who could cast silence over the McKinley hallways with her mere shadow, never had to raise her voice or hand.

The old Quinn Fabray knew how to use a smirk, and a wink, and an attractive girlish giggle to cast irreparable self-doubt within others.

It was clear to her that it was time to return to her roots…

Attired in one of her many sensuous dresses, she stood before her lengthways closet mirror; dusting life back into her cheeks with a blusher brush, and restoring the dazzle to her eyes with a few subtle coats of mascara.

No one would suspect that she was exhausted and dying at the hands of the flu.

That was the beauty of make-up.

One could be whoever one wanted to be.

And Tonight?

Well, tonight Quinn was going to be Rachel Berry's assertive, sexy, well-put-together girlfriend. Noelle was going to discover that she couldn't even match up to – let alone top – Quinn Fabray, neither in the looks nor personality department. The average-looking violinist would, no doubt, wilt under the weight of her own insecurity, and by the end of the night she would know that she had no chance whatsoever with Rachel.

Quinn's rosy model cheeks rode up with her signature smirk as she slowly traced jungle red lipstick around her full kissable lips, later smacking and sliding them together for even coloring.

Once done painting concealer into the shadows that webbed the flesh beneath her eyes, the blonde stood back and combed her gaze over her punishing reflection.

The closet mirror now had a rather different story to tell, falling over itself to toss sheer flattery and applause her way.

A few puffs of Sarah Jessica Parker perfume, and an elegant updo later, Quinn found herself taking her phone to her ear after having dialed Rachel's number.

She tapped her foot to the floor with each ring that went unanswered until...

"What do you want?" came the brunette's rather sudden yet stern voice. "If you're phoning so that we can arrange for you to return this dress to the store," she hissed, thinking disdainful thoughts of the black garment that hung on her closet door knob, "then by all means, come and collect it! I couldn't care less when – just come and get it out of my home!"

Quinn, who had just been about to slip her porcelain feet into a pair of red heels, halted.

"Are you listening to me, Quinn?"

"Unfortunately," the blonde grumbled out, kicking the heels to the side; suddenly not feeling so sexy. She twirled around with intentions to retrieve a pair of earrings from the bedside cabinet, but as soon as she glimpsed herself in the closet mirror, she stilled and scowled at her beautiful reflection.

Her beauty - none of it mattered, in that moment, because Rachel was being grouchy with her.

Though it wasn't like she hadn't known that this may have been coming.

Still…

"Where are you?" she impatiently asked.

"I'm Dorothy Gale, and I'm in Kansas. Where do you think I am?"

"I _think_ that you may want to come to Mike's party with me, to make sure that the bunny boiler makes it home in one piece tonight. That's what I think!" Quinn snapped, letting her frustration get the better of her.

She immediately took a deep breath in through her mouth, and blew it out through said orifice, preparing herself to start the conversation over in a much calmer vein.

But by the time that she had somewhat cooled her jets, Rachel had already begun to speak, and it didn't seem like she would ever stop.

"I know how your mind works, Quinn Fabray. If you think that I am going to go to that party so that you can stake your irrational claim on me in front of Noelle, then you are sorely mistaken! Furthermore, if you think that you're going to go to said party to threaten and harass one of my only friends, in my absence, then you would be sorely mistaken on that count too! Your twisted power trip has come to an anticlimactic end, because I'm going to tell Noelle the truth – that you are nothing more than an adversary, who proposed a deal that I simply could not refuse!"

Quinn felt, as well as heard, the brunette's chest rapidly heaving up and down.

Rachel was really mad.

At her.

And that fact bothered her more profoundly than she could comprehend in that moment.

Her nostrils flared repeatedly, syncing with the harsh words that bubbled up on her tongue, only to dissolve seconds later; rinse and repeat.

She was done with the calm breaths. She could get just as loud, and just as leary as the other girl!

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" she seethed, clutching her phone so tightly that it was bound to crumble at some point. "If you tell her the truth – which you **aren't** going to – then she's going to think that she actually has a shot with you, which is – it's bullshit!" she shrieked, only getting louder as she spat, "you told me you weren't interested in her! W-What, do you _want_ her pawing all over you?"

Crackling with unspoken truths and suspicion, a noiseless void began to swirl between the two girls, like a whistling elephant had just waltzed in, unzipped his pants, and taken a pee in the corner of the room; impossible to overlook.

A frown slowly manipulated Rachel's brow, wrinkling it with doubtful realization. She abandoned her large bedroom window, no longer concerned with keeping a look-out for Noelle's car.

Her petite bare feet wondered the carpet until her bed was bouncing gently with her weight, and only then did the stunned aspiring Broadway star part her lips to speak. "You're not aware of the fact that Noelle is one of the most trustworthy souls in this world, and therefore it would make sense for you to feel like she would blow our cover if she were to learn the truth. Based on those points, I could understand your desire to have me keep my mouth shut," Rachel said, her voice soft and unsure. "However, that doesn't at all seem to be the case. Much more bizarrely, it actually seems like your only concern lies with whether or not I'm going to run off and be with Noelle, which…"

The brunette allowed her words to trail into nothing; she didn't dare speak her suspicions. They were far too outlandish.

Yes she'd mocked Quinn, in the past, about her possessive nature by way of alluding to the possibility that the cheerleader was harboring romantic feelings for her. But she'd mostly just been attempting to irk the blonde, and she had done so with great success, although now things didn't seem so black and white.

But just – no way! There was absolutely no way that Quinn Fabray was attracted to her... right?

The very notion that Quinn had all along felt threatened by Noelle, for such reason, was just...

Just...

It, strangely enough, made a lot of sense; Rachel had to admit to herself.

"Quinn, are you there?" she poked after quite some time, now rubbing slow circles into her sternum.

"Fine! You win! I won't go to the party. Just don't tell the bunny boiler the truth!"

Rachel frowned; that had not been the response that she'd been anticipating.

She shook her head, no, and with much conviction as she allowed her hand to fall away from her sternum. "No, you're not getting out of this that easily, Quinn. Why are you so bothered by the idea of me dating Noelle?"

Quinn's jungle red lips didn't twitch. She combed her clear hazel eyes over her own face in the shiny silver surface, noting the fine beads of glistening sweat that were beginning to gather about her blanched temples and forehead.

"Why do you think I have a problem with it, Einstein?" she eventually managed to hiss over the audible thrum of her own heartbeat.

From where Rachel had begun her slow and stilted descent downstairs, so that she could watch some cable TV whilst waiting for Noelle to arrive, she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Wow, you're really going to make me say this. Out loud."

"Whatever you're thinking – say it! You don't have problems shooting that mouth off any other time!" Quinn pushed, deciding to hold onto whatever small shreds of dignity and power that she could on her inevitable spiral down.

"Alright," Rachel uttered, raking her fingers back through her soft brown hair as she strode across the lounge, and absently sat down on the sofa. "I'll say it..."

"Say it then!" the blonde challenged, seemingly psyching herself up, akin to how fighters slapped themselves in the face to get the adrenaline pumping before a fight.

She brought her free hand up to the mirror, pressing her palm flat to the surface as if in need of support.

Then she closed her eyes and waited.

She waited for the brunette's voice to pour back into her ear.

"I think you have a problem with the idea of Noelle and I dating because… because you are harboring romantic feelings towards me. As absurd as it may sound, I think that you're jealous of my bond with her, Quinn."

There it was, out in the open. No longer avoidable.

Rachel wasn't exactly sure what kind of reaction she'd been expecting, but Quinn laughing derisively in her ear hadn't come top of the list. "Please share the joke, Quinn. I feel as though I need laughter in my life after spending the morning in your presence!"

"You know, I just _have_ to ask; have you been hanging out with my – with Judy? She give you some of the strong stuff?" Quinn sensuously purred, purely to make a mockery of the brunette's dangerous conclusion. "Because if you were drunk right now, it would make total sense. But I'll play along if you want me to, baby. _Yes_, I'm jealous. I've always despised you, but in the short time that we've spent together, as false girlfriends, I've grown irrationally attached to your annoying sense of humor, and to those stupid little faces that you pull – as well as those fucked up sweaters that you insist on putting everybody through. All of those things get me going like you wouldn't _believe_, Rach," she continued to purr into the shorter girl's ear, each one of her words dripping with calm theatrical snark – in spite of the reality of her disposition, which told the stark story of a panicked heartbeat and a quickly puddling forehead.

"Mock me all you want to, Quinn, but I now see the reality of this situation clearly. If you're not willing to be truthful with me, then I don't see what more I can do. Now, you may deal with your feelings for me in whichever way that you choose to, as I am not particularly fussed. Just as long as you don't pull anybody that I care about – including Noelle – down into your web of self-loathing!"

There was something about Rachel's tone; the nonchalance, the cold disregard – it caused something within the cheerleader to break loose. "Screw you, Rachel!" she spat, resentful.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but made a point to draw compassion into her tone as she said: "If you tell me the truth, I want you to know that I'm not going to make fun of you or your feelings. I once had a fleeting crush on Mrs Langley, so I know how unexpected these things can be."

Quinn scoffed bitterly. "I don't have _any_ feelings for you, other than extreme -"

As abrupt as a finger to the eye, the line suddenly died...

Like a thrashing body of water, Quinn's chest rolled with each congested breath that puffed past her lips. She dragged the back of her hand across her damp forehead, and forcefully tugged her hair loose; shiny golden tresses falling tussled around her tense flustered shoulders.

She stood there, in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips; thoroughly riled.

But the truth of the matter, as she knew it, was that if she had been Rachel, she might have hung up too.

Still, knowing that didn't stop the infuriating ache that flared within her chest.

This felt final. This felt like Rachel had given up on her.

And more than anything, **that** bothered Quinn.

Without a thought for the rest of her immaculate appearance, she shoved her feet into a pair of tattered sneakers, shrugged on a cardigan, snatched her car keys, and left the Fabray residence.

Over at the Berry household, Rachel clicked her tongue, whispering hushed profanities down at her now dead cell phone.

What was with smartphones and their shoddy battery life?

Quinn was now perhaps going to think that she'd hung up on her, which – if Rachel were to be honest – she may not have been so far off from doing.

The rush of emotions that teemed within the cells of her body were perplexing; frustration, confusion, disbelief, denial, compassion, and even a hint of... curiosity?

If she'd read the situation correctly, which she was certain that she had, then Quinn Fabray – the girl that had been trying to make her life miserable for the last however long – had a crush.

On her!

Yes, Rachel was curious indeed.

What was it about _her_ that Quinn found appealing? And how had the blonde even come to find her appealing in the first place?

Despite her parents and their myopic views, Quinn seemed most nonchalant about homosexuality; she was friends with Santana and Brittany, and when she had found out that Rachel, too, was a lesbian she hadn't seemed repulsed in the slightest.

Had that relaxed stance on homosexuality been the crack through which the cheerleader's sapphic inclinations had flourished?

Rachel had no idea, but she'd been given a new lens through which to gaze things from. So she began to scrutinize past events through it; Quinn's invasive questions regarding Noelle, Quinn's possessive behavior regarding Noelle, the gallant slushie incident, the generous gesture in _Boop 101_.

The fleeting droopy-eyed gaze that she had caught Quinn giving her as they'd browsed _Boop 101's_ jewellry selection…

They'd always said that fact was stranger than fiction. But this?

Surely this was the plot of a sci-fi movie that had come to life!

Rachel sat there in the dimly lit lounge, wondering how she'd gotten herself into such an unfathomable situation – caught in-between two girls that she wasn't particularly interested in.

Truthfully, she could not imagine herself making love to either Noelle or Quinn.

Noelle was her friend, a person that she valued and respected greatly. Someone who she could laugh and be goofy with, without fear of reproach. But that was as far as her feelings for the talented violinist extended. Besides, Noelle was one of her only friends – what if something were to go wrong and their friendship then soured as a result?

Not a chance.

Then there was Quinn, who the brunette couldn't imagine herself making love to, or snuggling up to, or pecking on the cheek, or even having deep and meaningful conversations with, because Quinn was, well… she was Quinn Fabray...

Close to fifteen minutes later, the sudden low hum of a slowing vehicle made itself known to Rachel's ears from just beyond the front window.

She quickly rose up from the sofa and smoothed down her appearance, more than aware of the fact that she was over-compensating due to the pesky nerves that she felt within; because she knew that she looked fine.

But what if this talk with Noelle went badly, for whatever reason?

As she unlocked and gently pulled open the front door, Rachel breathed in a renewing breath and then exhaled…

The calming preparation didn't matter in the end though, because what she saw just beyond the garden caused her eyebrows to dip in towards one another, and her eyes to narrow.

The car that rested on the curb did not belong to Noelle, and the girl that was pounding the pavement towards her _certainly_ wasn't Noelle.

"This is what happens when people hang up on me. I show up at their house," Quinn barbed as she pushed in past the clearly put out brunette.

Rachel pushed the door in and rounded on the unwelcome blonde. "What do you think you're doing here – just showing up at my home? And I did not hang up on you! My battery died!" she raised her voice, as she slung a hand out towards the lifeless cell phone that rested on the sofa. "Now what are you doing here?" she reiterated with force.

Quinn glanced around the quirky yet warm room; her previously puffed up chest slowly deflating.

Sighing lengthily, she raked all ten fingers back through her hair – suddenly stopping halfway, before letting her hands flop to her sides. "Where are your parents?" she rushed out, glancing around once more, this time with a flicker of panic in her eye.

Rachel watched the other girl, studied each one of her perfect features. She hadn't a clue what she had been expecting now that she knew how Quinn felt about her. But she couldn't say that anything seemed different. Quinn still looked like a Milan model, still spoke the same way. Still had that quick temper.

The only thing that ceased to be was their usual banter, which had been replaced by high intensity frustration.

It was all very surreal to say the least.

Upon figuring out how to get her tongue working again, the brunette huffed and folded her arms. "My parents are not here, and I have a guest arriving soon. So if you could just leave..." She bobbed her head towards the door, letting the action speak her wish.

"A guest?" Quinn echoed, making no moves to leave. "Who?"

Rachel began to tentatively rub her hand up and down her own shoulder. She didn't want to spear the blonde's feelings in any way, but she wasn't going to lie either.

Lying was the very device that had allowed Quinn such leverage over her in the first place.

"I've invited Noelle over. I'm going to tell her the truth, Quinn," she answered shortly after, standing firm in her decision. "Regardless of the driving factor behind your behavior, you are out of control, and if I tell her that you and I are not really together, then you won't able play the possessive girlfriend that has come to warn her away. Neither will you be able to use our fabricated romance to rub the fact that she can't have me, because you already do, in her face. I will not allow you to manipulate or harm my friendships – especially when they are scarce as it is!"

"I-I wasn't actually going to – I was _fucking_ tipsy when I said all that stuff earlier, Rachel!" Quinn yelled, blurring right past the brunette towards the front door. She pressed her back to it and folded her arms, as well as crossing her feet.

An incredulous frown passed through Rachel's features as she spun around to watch the blonde's antics, because surely this wasn't actually happening. "What in Barbra's name do you think you're doing? Remove yourself from that door this instant!" she huffed, resisting the urge to stomp both of her feet, one after the other.

"You're not going to tell _Noelle_," Quinn stated, rather eerie with her calmness, "anything!"

Rachel eyes shrunk to form a blood-curdling glare. A glare that she shot straight through the defiant blonde. "I'm really trying here, Quinn. Trying to be compassionate. But you are impossible! Why don't you just admit that you're jealous, and afraid of me telling Noelle the truth because you think that she's going to whisk me off into the sunset? Which, again, isn't going to happen!"

Silence ensued; pregnant with countless possibilities, each one more impossible than its previous.

It was in that moment that Quinn concluded that she, herself, was a fucking idiot. Aside from the matter of talking Rachel out of telling Noelle the truth – which wasn't going well at all – she didn't even really know why she was stood in the brunette's quirky yet homely lounge.

She'd merely felt that tug, and she had blindly followed.

Blindly.

And now she was here, squaring off against the seething brunette without a shred of armor or ammunition.

Without a mask.

She _was_ jealous.

She _was_ afraid…

"Quinn, I would like for you to leave -"

Rachel's words abruptly hummed mute into Quinn's gentle, grasping, tentative lips, the space between their bodies closing; warm chest to warm chest.

They stumbled back towards the sofa at first, enduring clumsy nose bumps and unfamiliar height issues, until the blonde snuck a steadying hand around the back of Rachel's neck, and pulled her in to sate her thirst for more pressure.

Rachel didn't move her lips at all, no matter how Quinn's mouth sensuously nipped and pulled, and coaxed them. She was, to put it bluntly, frozen.

Next thing she knew, her back had collided with the sofa cushions – Quinn on top of her. The soft turbulence of the fall should have perhaps thawed her enough to where she could place a hand to Quinn's chest and proclaim that this wasn't what she wanted. But as the persistent cheerleader's lips began to trace languid yet greedy lines across her tan neck, she drained of all conviction and shuddered most quietly.

"Why are you – why aren't you telling me to go fuck myself?" Quinn suddenly murmured, somewhat breathless as she lifted her face out from where it had been buried in the crook of the brunette's cherry-scented neck, moments ago.

Rachel slowly opened her eyes and blinked owlishly up at the other girl.

She had never seen Quinn look so small and unsure of herself – never seen Quinn Fabray tremble, and she _was_ trembling, just ever so slightly.

Making it a point to ignore the sensation of Quinn's warm breath meeting with her cheek, she took her owlish brown orbs down between their bodies for a moment, and then carried her gaze back up to the silent blonde's eyes, which had become shimmering golden oceans of insecurity. "Quinn, I don't – this is…"

Despite calling attention to the phrase, the last thing that Quinn wanted to hear was, 'go fuck yourself.'

So before more incomplete sentences could leave the brunette's fumbling mouth, she quickly swept in for another incredibly soft, languid, wet kiss.

This time Rachel arched up into the warm body that weighed down fervently into own.

This time Rachel kissed back, unaware of the car that had just rolled up outside...


	11. Chapter 11

**Wow. 200 plus followers? Thank you. **

**And this is the best Faberry story ever? I don't know about that, but I take compliments any way that I can get them lol ;) My apologies for any errors.  
**

* * *

Outside of the Berry household, Noelle had just powered her car down. She glimpsed her appearance in the rear-view mirror, checking her teeth, and make-up, and eyebrows. Though she wasn't quite sure why, since Rachel was apparently taken now. The appearance check had just sort of become this customary procedure that she always took herself through whenever she knew that she was about to see the adorable brunette.

Maybe her continuation of scrutinizing her appearance before seeing Rachel – despite now knowing that she was with Quinn – was a sign of some sort, Noelle gleaned; frowning in the dark of her car.

Just based off of observation alone, she believed that she knew Rachel quite well. Most often when those around her would speak, there were certain words that would stop her in her tracks and call a smile about her features, because they were a reminder of the aspiring Broadway star's vibrant personality.

Undoubtedly, one of those words was passion.

Rachel laughed hard, performed even harder, complained with vigor, and strung complex sentences together to the very best of her ability, even when simpler words could – and perhaps should – have been spoken.

Yet she hadn't said a single thing about Quinn.

Not once, which was about as peculiar as what was taking place on the sofa in the Berry lounge…

Rachel's body hummed as she grabbed Quinn's cheeks, and leaned up further into the blonde's warm mouth; their bewitched lazy tongues swirling and sliding together as one.

Possessed by the energy that seemed to snap, crackle, and pop between their bodies, Quinn's jittery hand skated along Rachel's outer thighs, squeezing the smooth supple flesh that rested beneath the brunette's sinfully short skirt.

More.

More.

More... until her shaky pale fingers began to trespass the elasticated waistline of Rachel's skirt...

The new sensation jarred the aspiring Broadway star entirely, to the point where her eyes leaped open wide, and a quiet whine left her, followed by, "Qui-hmm, we -"

Her attempt at words were fervently swallowed; dying off within the warm reverberant recesses of Quinn's throat.

Dangerous thoughts tempted Rachel, urging her to let the fervency go on as it was. Telling her to slide her hands down Quinn's back for a cheeky squeeze of the cheerleader's famously firm butt, but the quivering hand that began to slip too far beneath her skirt's waistline sobered her just as a slushie to the face would.

She politely pecked the insistent lips that had worked her up so, just once more, before placing a relatively firm hand to the blonde's chest, and pulling away, breathless.

Whilst it had always lived, the silence suddenly rushed in around Quinn's senses, like that of an axe murder who liked to chase out victims in the woods.

The kissing had ceased, and as a direct result of confirming that with herself, fear spiked – hot and acidic – within her gut.

What if Rachel told her to go fuck herself, or worse?

Although it had taken quite a bit of her best lip service to make it happen, Rachel _had_ eventually begun to kiss back, so that _had_ to be a good sign.

Right?

The trembling cheerleader wasn't at all sold, so she tucked her forehead into the warm thudding chest beneath her and shuffled down the brunette's petite body, until her face was...

Rachel quietly squeaked, grimacing down at the sight of the fumbling blonde, who was most definitely trying to find a comfortable position _between_ her thighs. "W-What – hey, what are you doing?"

Quinn stilled, adopted a grimace of her own, and hid her face, which had filled bright pink, against Rachel's navel.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

She sighed and briefly rose up on her knees so that she could sit down on the other side of the couch, far away from the brunette, whose gaze she avoided at all costs. Instead, Quinn sought to cast her panic-stricken eyes over the large flat-screen television, and over pictures of a younger grinning Rachel – everywhere but at the object of her impulsive advances.

Had she really just tried to go down on –

The sad truth was that if she hadn't been discouraged, she just may have gone through with it, purely because Rachel was always so strong and sturdy, and _that_... well _that_ would have turned her into a whimpering body of breathlessness.

To have Rachel bucking beneath her and puffing out choked gasps at _her_ mercy…

The steamy forbidden imagery reached down into Quinn's inner thighs and clenched them; her pale throat revolving around a gulp that left her mouth gasping for moisture.

This was probably how Finn felt on a day-to-day basis – like a clumsy, fumbling, perpetual fuck-up, she concluded.

Her jaw tensed, pulsing beneath her alabaster flesh in intervals. "I…" She sighed, frowning rather painfully, as though even she couldn't understand her own behavior. "I don't know what I was thinking," she muttered, still not daring to meet the other girl's gaze. "I _wasn't_ thinking -"

"No, it's alright. Anomalies are to be expected, because this – well, this is..." Rachel frowned, blinking over and over again as if to better get her mind to accept what had just happened. "This is a peculiar situation," she eventually murmured to herself, letting the back of her head fall flat against the sofa cushion, from where she peered up at the boring ceiling in what was her very own version of Finn's famous mailman arousal-kill technique.

Yeah... it wasn't working. At all.

Thinking that sensory deprivation was perhaps the most effective way to go, she closed her eyes and just allowed herself to focus on her breathing.

In and out.

In and -

"It's not like you can be mad at me anyway, b-because you kissed me back. If the red handprint on my butt is any indication, y-you wanted me too," came Quinn's somewhat fragile yet mostly accusatory voice.

Rachel ruffled her hair, sighed her shoulders saggy, and sat up, all whilst attempting to figure out how she was going to make her intentions clear without hurting the blonde's feelings, too much.

Flattery was perhaps the best way to go, she soon gleaned.

"Even though I dislike your defensive tone, which isn't necessary at all, by the way," she began with a composing swallow, and a slow processing nod of the head, "I'll admit that I may have overstepped certain boundaries. I'm not sure whether you know it, Quinn, but you look quite scrumptious tonight, despite those sneakers. Plus you smell fantastic, and you're a rather good kisser. I'm only human. But I want to apologize for perhaps giving you the wrong impression, because..." She paused, softening her tone and her gaze as she gently explained, "I don't think that I'm going to be able to give you whatever it is that you're looking for."

Feeling her heart seep down into her stomach, Quinn narrowed an intense glare at the floor.

She hadn't even been aware of just how much she'd been dreading the sound of those words. The sound of being shut down, so complete and utter.

If Santana were to know about this – about Rachel Berry rebuffing her, well, the Latina was bound to laugh until her lungs collapsed; the bitch!

On top of that, Rachel's soft tone had served to do nothing but patronize; rejection was rejection, no matter how many feathers one fluffed it with.

Quinn felt like she might have preferred, 'go fuck yourself,' over this insulting air of pity.

As it stood, everything _was_ fucked! How was she supposed to continue to be around the brunette now, with everything that had happened?

Awkward was too tame a description...

With the weight of her words still echoing in the silence, Rachel took to studying Quinn's flustered side profile; noting everything from the small ripples that seemed to be rolling through the blonde's body, to the unhealthy crimson hue that populated her otherwise pale cheeks.

"Quinn, I do not wish to upset you, but allow me to highlight that we do nothing but squabble with each other," she continued, feeling toxic waves of energy waft off of the blonde; hoping to quell them with simple logic. "I like my own way, and so do you. One of us would be dead within a month of the relationship – most likely you – and I can't imagine that I'm cut out for jail food. Also, I wouldn't be without my Penny Loafers, or my fucked up sweater vests, as you put it earlier."

Rachel attempted a light-hearted chuckle, but it fell weak and lifeless under the gravity of Quinn's taught and unamused facial expression. She let her residual smile disintegrate. If the atmosphere was anything to go by, this was going to end badly.

Quinn's hands ceased their tremble, balling in her lap. "Save the lame humor for those kid parties that you're going to have to work whilst waiting for Broadway to deem you worthy! I don't want to _be_ with you! I could have anybody that I want. Why would I want you?" she spat, still unable to spare the shorter girl a glance.

Rachel bristled at the jab at her career chances. She pursed her lips; chest puffed. "That response only illustrates my point, Quinn. I don't even want to think about the fights that we would get into if we were to take things to a romantic level. The police would know us on a first name basis within a year, and -"

Frowning to the point that her nose pleated, Quinn shook her head, and with such vigor that the action silenced the brunette rather abruptly. "Are you implying that I'm physically abusive?"

Rachel clicked her tongue once reading just how offended Quinn was. "I didn't say that. What I meant was that you have a temper, Quinn, and I'm a handful even for those that don't. Onlookers would perhaps call the police due to our volume -"

"I want my dress back!" the disgruntled cheerleader barked over her, snapping her fingers loud and hard as if to hurry the brunette along.

"That's absolutely fine." Rachel replied, smoothing down her skirt as she stood up. She tugged her cell phone out from where it had wedged itself down between the sofa cushions, and began to head for the stairs – when the doorbell gonged.

The loud merry jingle traveled throughout the house, halting her feet.

How could she have forgotten that Noelle was coming?

Her eyes cut through the air towards Quinn, who was regarding her for the first time since their small romp on the sofa.

"You're not answering that!" the blonde growled, standing up as though she was getting ready to do something. She put a foot forward, readying herself for whatever – but stilled when she recalled the fact that Rachel thought that she was some psycho spouse beater. "What are you going to say to her?" she instead demanded, deciding to slowly round on the brunette.

Ignoring Quinn's proximity, Rachel redirected her feet towards the front door.

Quinn tugged her fingers back through her own hair, her shoulders visibly hiking up and down with each breath. She sent a panicked glance around the neat room as if to look for clues as to what she should do.

But to no avail...

To no avail, at least, until she glimpsed the somewhat dull lip-shaped crimson hues that were smudged blotchily about Rachel's lower cheek, jowl, and neck.

The mere sight of such marks quieted Quinn's heartbeat. They called the steamy events that had transpired just moments ago to the forefront of her senses, evoking small tingles in her toes and fingertips. They called a calculated smirk to her face, and a conniving gleam to the golden flecks that populated her eyes…

Rachel opened the front door to find Noelle crouching on the lawn, fingering through the many fine blades of moon-lit grass.

"Hey Rach," Noelle chirped with a sheepish wave and an embarrassed wince-like squint. "Do you have a torch light? Muggings here has managed to drop her keys in your unruly lawn grass," she chuckled, though she wore a concerned focused frown as she continued to search for her lost keys. "I've been looking for like ten minutes now. Gonna have to get on Leroy and Hiram about this garden. Noelle is not impressed."

"What am I going to do with you?" Rachel clicked her tongue, reaching up to turn on the wall light. "The only thing that you seem to be able to do well is play the violin," she teased dryly.

"Thanks for those soul-enriching words, Rach. I'm sure I'll go on to accomplish great things – oh, _there_ they are. Found them!" Noelle exclaimed, jingling the keys around in merry celebration, before rising to her feet and gently slapping her quadriceps muscles to get the circulation going again.

Stood a few feet behind Rachel, Quinn rolled her eyes and mockingly mouthed the pretty Asian girl's words, before deciding to return to the sofa, where she sat sullen; stewing over how effortless Rachel's relationship with Noelle seemed to be.

The girl had met Rachel's parents – knew them by name!

So freaking what though? Noelle's lipstick wasn't marring the brunette's skin. Rachel hadn't arched beneath _her_, or squeezed a handful of _her_ butt.

The bottom line was that Rachel could tell the bunny boiler that they were not a real couple if she wanted to, but the blotchy jungle red smudges about her lips, neck, and jaw said otherwise.

Noelle made her way up the stone steps towards Rachel, frowning more and more with every stride. "Did you get into a fight with a tube of red lipstick? Because I can give you tips on how to wrangle that sucker into submission, so that it will do what you tell it to do."

Confusion took to shimmering in Rachel's eyes, billowing like smoke that fogged from the end of a lit sage stick.

But then the smoke cleared, realization colliding with her at full force.

And in more ways than one...

Even if she wanted to tell Noelle the truth – which she still wasn't decided on – things were complicated now, because apparently her face was covered in Quinn's freaking lipstick! To admit that she wasn't actually dating the cheerleader – would Noelle even believe that after this?

Rachel vigorously rubbed her cheek in an attempt to get rid of the red smears, all whilst glaring off at something unknown – lost in her suspicious thoughts.

If there was one thing that she knew, it was that Quinn Fabray was a manipulative so and so. She moved people about life's chess board for personal gain, and without a second thought for the casualties.

Without hesitation.

Well she had just crossed the line!

Though they were concealed by her long brown hair, the bristling brunette's temples began to twitch, along with her jaw.

"What's wrong, sweets?" Noelle immediately asked, sensing the change in energy. She took her dark eyes over her friend's face again; this time noticing that the blotches were not actual blotches, but lip-shaped. "Oh," she uttered, her merriment draining as she glanced past the shorter girl and saw Quinn sitting on the sofa, peering back nosily. "What's going on?"

Attempting to compose herself, Rachel put on a struggling smile – though when she realized that she couldn't keep it up, it fell flat within seconds, and she didn't bother to conjure another in its place. "I'm sorry, Elle. But I have to talk to Quinn for a moment," she explained, tossing her thumb back over her shoulder. "Would you like to come in and have a seat?"

Noelle arched an eyebrow. "Err… sure," she slowly answered.

The moment that she entered the house, just inches ahead of Rachel, she sensed the chill in the air.

Gone was the homely feeling that had always rushed at her whenever she had visited the Berry household in the past, replaced by this… this ominous imminence.

Still, she combed her long shiny black mane to one side, and sent a polite smile Quinn's way. "Hi," she said as she sat in the lone armchair and lapped one leg over the other, her black heel swaying awkwardly with the tension that swelled between all present.

Quinn deadpanned. "Do I know you?"

Noelle's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. "Wow," she chuckled mirthlessly. "What a warm ray of sunshine."

She thumbed the small silver links that made up her thin navel-length necklace, and eyed the moody blonde through a bold studious gaze.

Yes, the cheerleader was stunning – achingly so – but apart from that was she really supposed to believe that this was who Rachel was dating?

Something wasn't adding up.

"Quinn, I want to see you in the kitchen now!" Rachel suddenly demanded, crossing the lounge with brisk and purposeful strides, until she had vanished into the kitchen.

"You need to address me like I'm your better half, and not your pet!" Quinn barked back, before puffing out a stuffy frustrated sigh. She then glared at Noelle, simply because the girl existed.

"If I have to call you again I'm done, Quinn!"

The blonde begrudgingly stood up, tugging her cardigan closed as she followed Rachel's steps to the kitchen.

A satisfied smirk may or may not have been carving out a home for itself in the corner of Noelle's mouth...

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Quinn quietly hissed as she entered the narrow chrome kitchen. "Don't talk to me like that in front of... in front of _her_!" she grunted, jabbing her thumb back at the door.

Looking the blonde directly in the face, Rachel folded her arms. "Why did you kiss me?" she asked, blunt.

Just like that, Quinn faltered. Such a question sent her eyes a flicker, and caused her body to drain of all intensity; she might as well have had string for limbs.

A hard desert-like swallow rolled around her scratchy throat, but no words left her lips.

She would never say it out loud.

Never.

"W-What the hell are you talking about?" she rushed out, as though walking past a graveyard at night.

"I am not an idiot, Quinn. You kissed me because you wanted Noelle to see your lipstick all over my face – so that even if I told her the truth, she'd have a good reason to question it!"

The emotionally drained cheerleader closed her eyes and sighed. She took two fingers to her right temple, prodding the spot in a slow circular motion as puffs of air rushed from her nose.

Rachel shrugged. If Quinn wasn't going to say anything, then she would. "I'm done. With everything," she said, dusting her palms against one another as if finished taking out the trash. "I can't have such a manipulative person in my life. Never has my life been this complicated, Quinn. Now I'm going to retrieve your dress from upstairs, and then I want you to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until you listen to me!" Quinn grumbled, suppressing the prickling sensation in her stuffy nostrils.

"Well I can call the police and have you removed if that's what you'd prefer."

Quinn's eyes shot open, glistening a rich syrupy gold that should have radiated warmth for their boundless depth. But they didn't, instead shining like a blade's cold silver gleam. "Fuck you," she rasped, barely above a whisper. "Fuck you, Rachel, because I was ready to _go down on you_ earlier; that's how scattered – h-how frayed my nerves were after I kissed you!"

"Not to be difficult, but your apparent nerviness could have been an act for all I know!" Rachel countered, unfazed. "You knew that Noelle was coming over at that point!" she further pointed out, raising a strong challenging eyebrow. "How would I know if your actions were genuine? – Well I wouldn't, would I? You could have just been trying to sell that kiss to me as genuine, when in reality all you wanted was to lower the possibility of Noelle accepting that you and I are not an item!"

"I guess you're just going to have to take my word for it, aren't you?" the blonde snarled, glaring at the shorter girl.

"Oh, well that lends me _great_ comfort. Thank you," Rachel retorted unenthusiastically.

"I realized that my lipstick was all over you at the **last** minute!" Quinn grated out, like pulling teeth, "and I didn't say anything because I didn't know what you were going to tell the bunny boiler. Better safe than sorry. But I didn't kiss you for the reasons that you're trying to pin on me!" she whispered snappily, and to the point that the tendons in her neck had grown more and more defined with every passionate syllable; leaving her panting.

Rachel's arms, which were still folded, slowly fell loose. "This is such a mess," she murmured, wading through her cluttered mind in review of the day's unlikely events.

She wasn't sure what to think.

And to top it off, Noelle was sitting in the lounge waiting for her to initiate a conversation that most likely wasn't even on the cards anymore.

_Bzzt_!

At the sudden sensation of her phone continuously vibrating against her thigh, Quinn clicked her tongue, before snatching it out of her cardigan's deep hood-like pocket.

Without bothering to glance the caller ID, she threw the device at her ear and barked, "what?"

"Bitch, come correct. I'm not in the mood!" Santana snapped.

"Me neither. What do you want?" the blonde bit back, just as aggressively.

In that moment Rachel abruptly brushed past her, disappearing into the lounge...

"Quinn, you listening to me?" Santana pressed from the other end of the line.

The blonde was lost in the way that the kitchen door swung back and forth with the brunette's swift departure. She quickly shuffled towards it, watching through the closing gap as Noelle chuckled and then stood up to placate a profusely apologetic Rachel with a hug.

"No, say it again," the blonde murmured into her phone, scowling at the way that Rachel embraced the tall violinist for an extra few seconds, before seeing her to the front door.

"You heard from Finn?" Santana asked, her voice smooth and curious yet guarded.

Quinn instantly grew alert. "What?" She frowned, leaning away from the spy-gap. "Why?"

...

"Answer me!"

A long sigh poured into the Head Cheerleader's ear, followed by a beat of silence and then: "Me and Puck drove Finn out a couple miles east. Left the Jolly Pale Giant in an area he doesn't know; payback for what that ass-wipe did to you at school the other day. He had his cell phone and a couple of dollars. He's a fucktard, but he should've been able to find his way back by now. 'Cept, his freaking mom is calling everyone, asking if anybody's seen him. Old girl's getting ready to call the cops and Puck's over here freaking the fuck out, 'cause we used his car and he's afraid that surveillance cameras might have picked us up."

Quinn palmed her forehead and closed her eyes, just breathing.

Seriously, what the fuck was in the air today? She hoped, at least, that God was getting a few laughs out of her life.

"What are – have you guys tried calling his cell phone?" she suddenly suggested, tearing her mind apart in the hopes that she would, by chance, stumble upon a solution to this potentially combustive situation.

"No shit, Sherlock; he aint answering it!" Santana quickly shot her down, her voice nowhere near as suave as it had been moments ago. "The cops are in this now, so we gotta come up with a story if this shit turns sour."

"_We_?" Quinn seethed, her eyes expanding with disbelief. "**I** didn't tell you guys to do this!" she whispered brusquely.

"We did this for you, bitch! You're in this whether you wanna be or not!"

"No! You did it because you're blood-thirsty! What the fuck do you want **me** to do? My hands are tied, and I have my own crisis going on right now!" she stressed. "You better hope that Finn's still breathing, because if he isn't you and Puck are done!"

"So that's how it is? Fuck you -"

Quinn indignantly thumbed the hang-up button and slung her cell phone back into the confines of her pocket. She slumped back against the counter, somehow placated by how sturdy it felt against her lower back.

If Finn was truly missing, well, she didn't even want to think about what that meant, or about what it would mean if he were to remain missing…


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry about the wait. Been an annoying week. I also had to take my younger sister into hospital last night, and then we had a power cut due to some construction work that is being done close-by. All of this on top of life's obligations. Grrr!  
**

**I feel that this is a bit of a setup chapter. Anywho, thank you for all of the love, as always ;) I apologize for any errors. I've gone over it countless times, but my eyes are knackered.  
**

* * *

Sat at one of the back tables in the _Sun&Moon_ Café, Rachel huddled into her shoulders in search of warmth, later upturning her coat's collar. Her palms slid around the steaming mug of Green Tea that stood on the table before her, heat humming throughout her hands, thawing them.

Truthfully, she was still rather shaken up. Ever the drama queen, she'd taken off with the worst possible explanation after hearing about Finn's disappearance.

What if somebody had murdered him, or sold his corpse to McDonald's to be used as meat for the burgers?

It wasn't such an out there notion if recent news was any indication. Moreover, it was a notion that now had the brunette looking over her shoulder a little more vigilantly.

She didn't even want to think about the hell that Finn's mother was going through. Maybe a tray of freshly baked cookies, and a Pueblo Corn pie were in order, if not for anything else but to let Miss Hudson know that everyone's thoughts were with her...

"What's got you thinking so hard? I'm always afraid when you think."

Rachel blinked herself back into the present. She peered up at the newcomer and sagged with relief. "It's about time you showed up. I was beginning to think that you had gone missing too," she sighed, her features lingering in worry.

"Oh," Noelle drawled, nodding comprehensively as she hung her bag over the back of the chair, and then sat down opposite the brunette. "Yeah, I heard that your school may close mid-week if he still hasn't returned. He's only been missing for like a day though, so I doubt that the police will do anything to try to find him just yet. Stupid, I know. You seem pretty worried. Are you alright?"

Rachel sipped her tea with respect for its heat and then placed the mug down on the table. "Though Finn and I were far from close, yes, I'm most definitely worried. But I'm also rather spooked. If Finn can go missing at any given moment, then any of us could. It wouldn't take but two seconds to drag me into the back of a van and cart me off to God knows where – hopefully to New York, so that I can build on my Broadway career early. But there's no guarantee that that is where my abductor would take me..."

"Well," Noelle purred, canting her head to the side in a cutesy fashion, "I'll protect you."

The comment reverberated around her mind, along with images of a sullen Quinn Fabray, the moment that she'd spoken it; evoking the loss of her flirtatious grin. She peered out of the café's large front window, watching strangers go on about their day, whilst she was stuck enduring the awkwardness of her quite obviously unrequited crush.

"Elle," Rachel murmured knowingly.

Apologetically.

Noelle quickly laughed the awkwardness off with a shrug. "I was kidding. I wouldn't want to step on Quinn's toes... _too hard_ at least," she tagged on the end, simply because her tongue couldn't hold it. "Now tell me why you asked me to meet you here."

The shorter girl sighed and prepared herself for the inevitable. "Firstly, I apologize for needlessly inviting you to my house last night. Nothing that you say is going to stop me from reimbursing you the gas money -"

Noelle waved the brunette off, her expression bending into a wry smile. "I don't care about the gas money. Not everybody is as frugal as you, my dear," she teased, adopting a spot-on Dickensian English accent.

Rachel pursed her lips, her forehead sinking with disgruntled lines as she remembered how she'd dissolved with laughter when Quinn had called her a cheapskate yesterday. She hadn't laughed like that in a long time, and with that thought she was forced to admit that the silly memory was sort of close to her heart, despite everything that had followed it. Yet right along with that thought, she was also forced to admit that she didn't necessarily want to have fond memories with Quinn. Truth be told, she still hadn't forgiven the cheerleader for tormenting her mercilessly for all those years.

"Quinn also likes to think that I am frugal," she said, smiling begrudgingly over her cup of tea. "Though I don't know why; I spent fifteen dollars on her once, and I still haven't asked her to pay me back. I want at least fifteen points for that."

"What's that look?"

Rachel looked up. "What look?" she chuckled somewhat self-consciously, though her curiosity was genuinely piqued.

Noelle squinted; focused on reading the brunette. This was the first time that she'd seen Rachel show any kind of fondness for Quinn. That smile, however subdued, said it all.

Upon realizing this, her heart took a hit. She swallowed the sting down, reminding herself that Rachel's happiness was the most important thing in the end, and if the stunning blonde cheerleader with the pissy attitude made Rachel happy then there wasn't much that anybody could do, was there?

Still, the tall violinist was curious...

"I get it – really I do; Quinn's gorgeous. But besides that, what on earth do you see in the girl?" she probed, quickly adding, "not to knock your lady or anything though, because if somebody knocked my man or my woman, Noelle would not be impressed. But I just have to ask in this case."

The question stilled Rachel for more than a few seconds. She recalled the events that had happened after Noelle had left last night; Quinn storming out without so much as a word, and without the dress.

As far as the brunette was concerned the dating ruse was over, and the fact that Finn was now missing had been just another shove in that direction.

If he _was_ missing, the ruse was pointless anyway...

"Quinn is no longer my lady. As a matter of fact, we put an end to our relationship last night," she clarified, before taking another measured sip from her mug.

Noelle's raised her eyebrows, taken aback, though she wasn't sure why because the way that Rachel had been with the blonde, last night, had been pretty telling.

"In fact, I invited you to my house so that I could get your perspective – your advice – on whether or not I should break-up with her. But then she showed up, hence why I had to postpone our talk," Rachel explained, almost feeling her teeth quiver with discomfort as the lies poured through them. "From there we proceeded to argue, and then... then we broke up. I know that this goes without saying, but just to make certain, I would prefer it if you could keep this to yourself."

Really she'd wanted to tell Noelle the whole truth, but putting Quinn and all of her insecurities – as well as her unhealthy desire for power – out there, especially to someone who the blonde felt threatened by, just wasn't acceptable in Rachel's opinion – a betrayal if anything.

Noelle reached across the table, palming Rachel's hand. "Of course; I wont say a thing. How are you holding up, sweets?" she asked, delicate. "And I know how you like to be strong all the time, but you don't have to be that way with me."

"I know that, and I'll be fine. I'm genuinely coping well. It wasn't as if we were together for a long period of time. We gave it a go, and it didn't work," the brunette replied, watching the hand that covered her own. She wasn't sure whether she should address the elephant in the room just yet. But judging by the look on Noelle's face, it was clear that she, herself, wasn't going to be the one to address the elephant first...

"Rach, I don't want to put anything else on you right now, but at the same time I also want to be honest with you," Noelle began, her throat twitching with a small gulp. She slid her hand away from the small tan hand that rested atop the table. "I think that you are gorgeous, and... I think that you are extremely talented, and hilarious, _and_ adorable," she added, now smirking slightly, albeit a little sadly. Then she rolled her eyes. At herself. "Ok, who am I kidding? I have a worryingly sized crush on you, _but_," she halted her gushing ramble before she could get carried away, "I don't want it to mar our friendship. I just, I _had_ to tell you."

She blew out a quick breath, as if it were a balloon that she'd released into the sky.

Rachel smiled, a quiet blush dusting her cheeks. She'd suspected that her friend liked her, but to hear it like that? "Wow, that was quite the list of attributes. Thank you," she said, tucking some hair behind her ear. She gazed down into the ripples that swam outward on the surface of her tea. "I sort of figured out that you perhaps saw me as more than just a friend, but I wasn't one-hundred percent."

Noelle shrugged a shoulder. "Well you know me; subtle as a chainsaw to the head."

The unspoken request lingered between them, lurking in the averted glances, and in the demure awkward smiles.

"You would make the perfect girlfriend for me, Elle," Rachel finally spoke up. "But -"

"Dang! Always a but."

Rachel chuckled.

"Come on then!" Noelle prompted comedically. "Let's hear your list of reasons as to why you don't want to do the horizontal tango with me."

Rachel scoffed and then winked. "I perhaps would do the horizontal tango with you, but I don't want to lose our friendship. As I am sure that you've observed, I don't have many friends, and I love you – everything about you. I wish not to blur or cheapen that with sexual attraction, which we all know can be ridiculously fickle."

Visibly dejected yet still remaining in high spirits, for Rachel's sake, Noelle nodded to herself and adjusted her beanie hat. "I love you too. Enough to go away and lick my wounds, and then return to your side as your friend – best friend!" she quickly corrected herself with a smirk. "I want that title."

"It is yours." Rachel shrugged, winking. "But only because nobody else wants it at the moment."

"Whatever, cheeky – and I been had that title."

"You sound like one Santana Lopez," Rachel couldn't help but point out, chuckling gently.

"She stole all of her one-liners from me. Don't gets it twisted," Noelle retorted, playing along in the hopes that the humor would displace her disappointment. Or at least mask it a little better.

The aspiring Broadway star sighed, easing into a relaxed smile, though not completely; because she knew that she still had to check in with Quinn to see how she was coping with the current Finn situation.

Regardless of whether or not the blonde ever loved – or even liked – the clumsy boy, his sudden disappearance had to have come as a blow of some sort. Right?

It had for the entire town, and the fact that it had been on the news earlier wasn't doing anything to quell the notion that the situation was perhaps a potentially dire one.

Rachel had decided; she would hang out with Noelle for a little while longer, and then she would go home and consider when the best time to contact Quinn would be, as well as figure out how to approach the blonde, who was bound to still be agitated with her after the previous night's events.

But first she would let loose and be merry with her newly termed best friend.

"How was Mike's party?" she inquired, plucking free a loose eyelash before it could fall into her eye and prove itself to be an unwanted pest.

Making sure to say nothing, Noelle shrugged, like a child who was being asked to own up to a crime that had already been found out.

It was Rachel's turn to ask: "What's that look about?"

Shrugging once more, Noelle grinned.

And once more no words came from her...

Well at this point, Rachel had already dipped the tip of her index finger into her tea. She tucked it in the inside of her thumb; poised to flick at her friend. "Dish, otherwise I shall flick my tea at you," she prompted, sporting a dry yet comedic expression. "Then we will both be agitated and confused, as opposed to just me being agitated and confused."

"Put the gun away, Terminator," Noelle giggled, cupping and lowering the hand that hung inches from her face.

"Well then give me what I want or _I'll be back_," Rachel teased, making her fingers move as she spoke, like a makeshift mouth.

"Alright," Noelle drawled, as if put out. "Well, I may or may not have made out with Brittany Pierce," she confessed, biting her bottom lip in anticipation of Rachel's reaction.

"You are aware of the fact that there is something, of a romantic kind, going on between her and Santana Lopez, aren't you? However, they do not seem to be exclusive. But knowing how unreasonable Santana can be..."

"You should know that _she_ kissed me."

Rachel's expression remained unchanged by that small detail, simply because she had met Santana, 'Satan,' Lopez.

"Trust me; Santana don't want none of this," Noelle stated, smirking before growing serious. "Brittany seemed upset last night, we gravitated towards each other, and then she pounced. I never had a chance. If anything, I looked after her the entire night. Santana should be grateful."

"I'm happy to hear that you were there to take care of her, although I am wondering why Santana wasn't..."

After a while, Rachel gave up on the riddle, and licked her lips. "Brittany is a pretty girl, and she's a sweetheart most of the time. I must say that I'm quite envious of you, Elle."

"So you have a thing for blondes," Noelle confirmed with herself. "Well if you kiss me, it would be just as good as getting to smooch Britt, since I didn't brush my teeth or wash my face this morning. Just saying," she quipped, pushing it in that Noelle Hutchington-Chang, tongue-in-cheek, way.

Peering at her friend over the rim of her mug, Rachel chuckled. "I don't feel that you would be able to handle me. I'm handsy and I pretend that I'm deaf when told to stop," she husked, before bobbing her tongue out.

Noelle leaned her head towards her shoulder, clasping her hands on top of the table; business-like. "Oh really? Tell me more."

The two girls crumbled into a fit of giggles.

Ultimately it looked as though their friendship was going to be fine, which was what mattered at the end of the day. Moments such as this said so...

"Ooh, I almost forgot; there's a yacht party happening today!" Noelle suddenly exclaimed, as if only just remembering. "Since you flaked on me last night," she scolded playfully, "it is your duty to be my plus one for this party."

"That sounds rather lavish," Rachel mused, imagining pretty cocktails, and clear blue waters below a pink setting sun. "I may just have to take you up on your offer. With all that seems to be happening at the moment, it would be good to unwind a little. May I ask who owns the yacht?"

"Luke Montgomery-Smith-Haven. You know all those rich brats? Wade Massey – Ben Price and them?"

Rachel fingered through the pages of her mind, attempting to place those names. Benjamin Robert Price she already knew, as the arrogant antagonistic boy attended McKinley High, unfortunately. But the others were mere snobbish shadows to her mind's eye. "I know Ben but that's about it, thankfully."

Noelle's entire expression brightened with a dry snort of laughter. "Never change."

"Well, I will try not to let Broadway change me. But I make no promises. I'll most likely be Raymond Berry as opposed to Rachel Berry, by the time I receive my first Tony Award, simply because I've always wanted to be able to pee my name up the side of people's houses – free autographs for my fans, so to speak." Having said that, the brunette grinned widely, fluttering her eyelashes; her dimples prominent and adorable.

"If this table wasn't so wide, I'd reach across and pinch your cheeks; you're way too cute," Noelle giggled. Though for her outward mirth, pangs of sadness twanged her heart, because she now knew that the cutie across the table would never be hers...

Strange.

That was the word that Quinn would have used to describe her mood.

Even as she led Noah Puckerman up to her bedroom, she couldn't shake the feeling, no matter how she smirked and swayed her hips to tempt the boy into giving up his power. She may not have been able to shake it, but she could ignore it – focus on something else, like the cold steel buckle to the belt that held Puck's trousers up around his waist.

Both now stood just inches from her bed, she stroked her fingers over the buckle – back and forth – all whilst peering up at the seemingly hypnotized boy. "Take off your pants," she whispered sensuously.

Puck gulped. He had never seen the blonde look so beautiful; her face completely devoid of make-up, her hair tussled in that casual but oh so sexy way.

The wistfulness in her enigmatic hazel eyes.

He blinked himself out of those thoughts, and rubbed the back of his neck. "W-Where are your folks?"

"At church," Quinn answered, sliding her arms around the tense boy's neck and pulling so that his chest would fall into her own.

"And w-what about Rachel?"

At the mention of the brunette's name, the toxic feeling of rejection swarmed Quinn, returning to her like a frisbee that she'd sent away with all of her might. She gritted her teeth, and then forced herself to relax after a moment or two. "What about her? I don't want to talk about her. I need a big strong man," she purred into Puck's ear, causing his eyes to briefly flutter closed. "Now are you going to fuck me, or not?"

Those words – they cast aside every concern that plagued Puck. His large tan hands tugged at Quinn's ass, strong and aggressive.

Without further ado, he lifted her, walking her backwards until the mattress was rolling beneath their weight.

He peered down into her eyes, noting as much as he could about them.

"We'll need a condom. You got one?" the blonde prompted, mentally preparing herself for the size and girth of Puck's member as she remembered the gasp that she'd expelled the last time. "I-I want to be on top this time too, a-and no kissing," she quickly added.

Above her, Puck fell victim to a deep frown. His throbbing nether regions taunted him, telling him to improve upon the forty seconds that he had thrust out the last time that he'd been in this very situation. But he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was very wrong here...

"What's taking so long?" Quinn snapped.

"I..." The partially excited boy sighed and sent a small pitiful nod down between their bodies, saying no more.

It took more than a few seconds, all of which hissed with an awkward silence, for the blonde to figure it out – mostly because the idea was so improbable. But when she cottoned on, she did so in a big way. "Are you fucking serious? You can't get it up?"

Puck shook his head mournfully.

"Fuck sake. This is a God damn joke!"

"I think it's 'cause I'm so fucked up about Finn at the moment... I guess. It's stressful, dude."

Dude?

Seriously?

Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved him away, gazing over towards the window as she brought her one knee up to her chin.

What the hell was going on?

**Another** slam-dunk rejection, and all in less than two days, she internally griped as she glared off into space.

How had she lost her touch? She couldn't even get **Puck** hard now? A guy that she knew to be both infatuated with her and horny twenty-four-seven?

Well, indeed, if she had lost her touch, she was convinced – and perhaps irrationally – that it was all Rachel's fault.

But then again, everything was Rachel's fault at the moment! The broken ceiling fan downstairs in the kitchen, the mailman's incompetence _last_ week, the fact that there was no alcohol left in the house.

Everything!

"Quinn," Puck began, reaching for her, only to be emphatically shrugged off. "Look, I'd willingly be your play thing, but I aint stupid. You obviously had some type of fight with Berry, and I was the first sucker on your contact list. She loves you. I see the way she looks at you at school."

The Head Cheerleader remained tight-lipped and screw-faced.

She couldn't even muster a bitter scoff at the irony of the boy's remark.

"Quit being a spoiled brat! Finn's missing, man!" Puck stressed, raising his voice. "I thought you called me round so that we could talk about what we were gonna do if the cops showed up asking questions! I-I can't do this to Finn, especially when he could be..." He puffed out a long troubled breath, ruffling his mohawk back and forth, like a man of many woes. "Finn could be dead, layin' in some ditch somewhere, and **I** have to deal with that! I'm not smashin' his ex-girlfriend too."

"Didn't bother you before," Quinn retorted bitterly. "Now get out of my house, before I call my dad and tell him that you broke in through one of the windows."

"I actually like you! Like, a lot! What I did to Finn was for _you_! And look what happened!" Puck seethed, getting up and heading for the door. He tugged it open, so hard that it slammed against the inside wall. Loudly. "Think about the fact that people care about you before you use them and toss them to the side! You wanna get off? Get yourself a dildo – I don't care, but you ain't gonna use me!"

"Finn's probably living out in the woods with a gang of bears or something. He's **not** dead! It just – he can't be! And you're not going to make **me** feel bad about what **you** and Santana did! Now, I could have sworn that I just told you to get the fuck out of my house. Did I not?"

"Look around. Finn's nowhere to be found, Santana's pissed at you, Berry ain't around, and I'm about to walk out too! Fix your shit!" Puck shouted, before vanishing out through the door.

Quinn listened to the haste with which his feet thudded down the stairs, and when the front door slammed she flung herself back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling without blinking. She listened to her quickened breathing, listened to her chest wheeze as it rose and fell.

Like that of a self-fulfilling prophecy, a scratchy tickle began to materialize in her throat.

She sighed... wheezily.

The last week or so had drained her something awful – no wonder she had the God damn flu.

No wonder she was being _such_ a bitch!

Stress was like that.

But most stressful of all?

Truth be told, her unimaginable attraction to Rachel, to another girl, hadn't bothered her so much. Who wasn't experimenting with the same sex these days anyway?

No, most stressful of all was the fact that she was in some unthinkable way into Rachel, 'Man Hands,' Berry – _the_ girl that she had tirelessly bullied for everything from her jacked up fashion sense, to her unconventional facial features. The girl that irked the living crap out of her on almost every level! Not only that, but the blonde wasn't exactly sure what was defining the pull either.

Was it strictly sexual?

Was it emotional?

Both?

All options served to jar the cheerleader, that last one over them all...

It wasn't like it even mattered anyway though, because Rachel had more or less told her to get lost, and in every sense, which was a fact that had begun to dangerously eat away at Quinn's already shaky self-esteem – a fact that had had her prodding her face in the mirror in search of any imperfections that could stand to be fixed.

Who the hell did Rachel think she was?

This was all her fault! Everything was _her_ fault!

What-the-hell-ever though. If the Facebook invitation had been accurate, then Luke's luxury yacht party, which was set to commence in three hours time, would be swarming with three deck fulls of handsome rich boys, most of which had hit on her at some point in the past.

_Somebody_ on that boat would want her. They had to...

Having had enough of trying – and unsuccessfully trying at that – to coax her girlfriend into some sweet lady kisses, Santana leaned up, her hands pressing hard into the mattress either side of Brittany's head. "What's up, B?" she asked, concern etching her caramel forehead.

"... Nothing."

A familiar idea swelled within the Latina's mind, bringing with it a sexual smirk. "If you tell me what's up, I'll do that thing you like," she drawled sensuously, whilst unclasping the button that fastened the unusually quiet blonde's jeans.

But when the toned lithe body beneath her tensed, she stopped and huffed a sigh, leaning up completely. "What the hell, Britt? I got enough shit goin' on at the moment, without you keepin' shit from me too. Just tell me what's -"

"I kissed someone else," Brittany blurted, wincing as soon as the troublesome words met with the air.

"What?" Santana muttered, scooting back in a manner that painted her hurt visibly. "You tell me to commit to you a-and only you, I finally agree to that, and then you go out and kiss some asshole first chance you get?"

Brittany groaned, jutting out a dejected bottom lip. She fiddled with her fingers, her clear blue eyes growing moist. "I'm sorry. I was sad, and mad at you for yelling at Lord Tubbington the way that you did... He's _still_ depressed. I think he wants an apology."

"I can't believe this – you stepped out on me over that annoying ball of pocket-lint?"

Sitting up against the head board, Brittany grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest. "Santana! He's important to me. Don't call him names!" she scolded.

"No, you know what? You don't get to twist this, Brittany!" The furious Latina countered. "Who was it?" she demanded, getting up off of the bed altogether to pace the room.

Brittany watched the little vein in Santana's forehead – the one that always bulged with blood, becoming prominent, whenever she was deeply hurt as well as angry.

With the sight of it, the blonde bowed her head. "I'm sorry," she again mumbled.

"Who?" Santana persisted, placing her hands on her hips.

"You can't be mad at her, because I was drunk and she took care of me – and I was the one who kissed her," Brittany protested.

"**Who**?"

The blonde lifted her pale hand, rubbing her one eye like a scolded child who was about to burst into tears. "Noelle Hutchington-Chang," she mumbled. "Don't be mad at her. She doesn't know we're together."

Santana stood there, the tips of her ears burning with all of the emotion that drudged through her. "Everyone knows we're together! They just don't have the balls to say the shit to my face!" she exclaimed, trying to make Brittany understand that the kiss had been a devious and malicious act on Noelle's part.

In the past, she'd always kind of been indifferent to the tall Asian girl's existence. But this?

This meant war...

The last time that Rachel had worn jeans was – well... the brunette couldn't exactly remember. Skirts were so much more her, but as it so happened the day seemed to be just as windy as it was cast in beautiful golden warm sunlight. And she highly doubted that anybody wished to see her skirt blow up around her ears, least of all her.

Her expression conveyed her slight discomfort – a self-conscious fidget, somewhat – as she strode along the Lima Docks, with a well-dressed Noelle at her side.

"Not to reduce our friendship to mundane talk about the weather, but it really is gorgeous today," Noelle pointed out, taking her gaze along the many plush boats that were docked and bobbing atop the shimmering water's ripples. She smiled, seriously content for the moment. This was why she worked to push herself so hard at an academic level; so that one day she might own such lavish things.

Ambition; it was one of the main attributes that she shared with the aspiring Broadway star.

Rachel playfully hip-checked the tall girl beside her, simply because she could. "I must say that I agree. If you were going to host a boat party, it would certainly be today – despite the fact that I was forced, by the rambunctious winds, to wear jeans and deprive my nether regions of the air that it deserves."

"Only you could say that so casually."

"Whatever Elle; you love me. In other words, quit your belly-aching."

Aboard the filled Montgomery-Smith-Haven family yacht, Quinn had just tossed back her fifth vodka shot, drawing many cheers from the cigar-puffing, alcohol guzzling, teenagers that populated the swanky outdoor deck. She would have reached for the idol cigar that slowly smoked between Luke's fingers, as he conversed with other guests, but she thought better of it when a bikini clad girl slid another tray of shots on the table, before hurrying off to tend elsewhere.

"Today has been nothing but shitty, so I'manna do another shot. I deserve it," Quinn slurred, merrily pumping sluggish fists into the air.

"I like a girl who likes her liquor," an already buzzed Wade Massey commented, slowly sliding his pale hand up Quinn's bikini clad outer thigh from where he was lounging topless on a deck chair. He eyed her feminine yet toned physique with great excitement, imagining all of the things that he would do to her if he were to ever get her behind closed doors. With that thought, he glanced towards the double glass doors that led to the interior main deck, where he knew the king-sized bed to be.

Gentle with swishing the fizzy red wine around in his glass, Benjamin Price frowned at the sight before him, recalling the loved-up manner with which Man Hands had kissed the blonde in the hallway at school. "Hey Quinn, what happened with you and Berrylicious?" he just had to probe.

Wade's hand stilled its journey along the swaying Head Cheerleader's thigh. He sent his meddlesome friend a droopy-eyed glare.

In response Benjamin simply shrugged his muscular shoulders, flashing his perfect white teeth over the rim of his glass in an attempt to further antagonize his unamused friend.

Even with the five shots that were coloring her senses, Quinn struggled to hold her smile at the mention of Rachel's name. It was like this sore topic that was determined to throb, no matter how gently the wind might blow.

She stumbled a small distance on heavy feet, dropping down onto Wade's lap; casual with combing her fingers through his curly dark blonde hair. "Not _that_ Berrylicious, actually – and I kicked her ass to the curb," she begrudgingly slurred after a while, managing a convincing enough shrug, "because she's a loser."

In that moment, Benjamin's gaze just happened to skate over Quinn's shoulder. What he saw, or rather who he saw, caused him to smirk cunningly. He quickly returned his emerald green eyes to the inebriated cheerleader, so as not to alert her to the fuckery that she was about to walk into. "I just want to know one thing. What's Berry's cat taste like?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

The juvenile laughter that poured from all those that were listening suddenly tapered off with the arrival of two newcomers, reduced to hush whispers, conspiratorial glances, and quiet sniggers over cocktail glasses.

Sensing that Noelle was getting ready to scold Benjamin for his crude and unsightly words, Rachel placed a calming hand to the disgruntled girl's arm, and commanded her eyes to zero in on the boy that apparently fancied himself a clown. "Well Benjamin," she began with sardonic cheer, "I think that it's safe to say that my cat tastes a lot better than your mother's. That's for sure. Tell her to eat more greens. That should clear that right up!" She smiled cloyingly at the now blushing boy, bidding him a small nod of the head, as if to thank him for listening and suggest that he was welcome to come back for more any time that he wished.

Quinn almost knocked over the shot that she'd been reaching for in her haste to whip her head around. Everybody else may have been convulsing with laughter, but she wasn't.

Couldn't.

Her eyes misted over like murky golden waters over sharp rocks, as she carefully eyed Rachel, who was pointedly eyeing her back.

In that moment, both girls knew that this party was most likely going to be anything but fun...


	13. Chapter 13

**Here is the next chapter. Thanks for all of the previous comments. I appreciate it! ;) Is it me or was FF glitching earlier? Tsk tsk.  
**

* * *

Though Rachel had long since abandoned their eye contact, and was now stood a few metres away talking to a strawberry-blonde-haired, fair-skinned girl, Quinn could not stop her eyes from trailing after the brunette.

Every smile. Every laugh.

Every crease that rippled in her uncharacteristic pair of jeans whenever she gestured her small tan hands a certain way.

As studiously as the blonde's swimming vision would allow, she watched Rachel accept a small glass of red wine from Noelle, thanking the tall raven-haired girl with a grateful adoring grin.

Suddenly the pleasant warmth of the sun, the air of popularity, the lustful looks that she'd been getting – none of it mattered. Quinn's shoulders sagged; all she wanted to do was leave – even if diving overboard was her only option.

In all truth, the luxurious yacht was outrageously vast, and to the point that neither her nor Rachel would have to ever see or interact with one another if they chose not to.

Though perhaps that was the problem, Quinn gleaned miserably – that she wanted to interact with the annoying brunette. Wanted to have it out with her for unjustly calling an end to whatever the hell it was that one would call their relationship, both false and otherwise.

_Wanted_ to explain that she hadn't too much meant it when she'd called her a loser just moments before.

And to add salt to the slug's back, Rachel was _just_ a few meters away, publicly single and living it up in the company of Noelle Hutchington-Chang, the girl who would've put a ring on it this very moment if Rachel would only just agree to such.

Quinn rested her elbows atop the shot glass table, held her face within both palms, and sighed wearily.

She could no longer deny it; she was fucked, both in terms of intoxication and in terms of –

A warm large hand suddenly skated down her back, and with the muted sensation of the gesture, Quinn remembered that other people existed. As the sound of teenage debauchery slowly began to funnel back into her ears, she also remembered that she was sat on Wade Massey's lap.

Sluggishly lifting her head, which was starting to feel more and more like a fifteen-kilogram medicine ball, she murmured something that even she, herself, couldn't decipher.

"What? You want to go inside?" Wade asked, seeing his opportunity to get the intoxicated beauty to follow him into private quarters; just the two of them. "Looks like you've had one too many shots, babe. Let's go inside. You can lie down on the bed for a bit."

"No, I just wanna... wanna sit here for a while," Quinn replied, quiet and forlorn as she mentally summoned her bearings.

Luke, who was lounging in the deck chair beside them, lowered his cigar; pretty ribbons of smoke swirling from his heavily stubbled lips. "The remote to the bed recliner is in the bedside drawer, just in case you want to get freaky," he whispered into Wade's ear, all whilst watching Quinn to make certain that she was indeed wrapped up in her stupor, and not listening to him.

Wade's face broke out into a lop-sided yet cunning grin.

A bed recliner?

Sweet...

Rachel snorted unattractively, spluttering the moment that the rich red wine met with her tongue.

She began to whistle an innocuous little melody of a tune, all whilst edging towards the yacht's side, from where she tossed the remainder of her wine over board. "I don't normally drink, and that concoction was kind to remind me why. A smidgen of red wine is good for the circulation? Pfft," she scoffed. "Whatever happened to good old fashioned exercise?"

"I can't believe I'm friends with such a lightweight. You're supposed to endure the rancid taste for the sake of getting buzzed. What a disgrace," Noelle commented, shaking her head from side to side whilst trying not to smile through her feigned disgust.

Rachel gasped, slamming her empty glass down on a nearby table in a show of playful affront.

Beth Sykes giggled, before flicking her strawberry-blonde mane off of her shoulders and downing the entirety of her champagne, as if to show the alcohol-intolerant brunette how it was supposed to be done.

Quite funnily, the boastful little demonstration wasn't at all lost on Rachel. "So you can guzzle a whole glass of champagne. That's great. But is that a skill that is going to help you achieve your dream of becoming a WWE diva? You didn't think about that, did you now?"

Releasing a few tickled brays of laughter, Beth glanced to Noelle. "I can only imagine the amount of fun that you guys must have when you hang out, just the two of you," she mused, knowing what Noelle could also be like.

"We don't even do drugs, yet our conversations tend to take us to the most outlandish places. Never a dull moment. I love it. It's good to be random."

"I agree," Beth chimed, fiddling with the pink bow on her bikini bottoms. She took her green eyes to Rachel, who seemed to be doing an absent little jig to the music that could be heard pouring from the upper deck. "You seem pretty upbeat for someone who's just gone through a break-up," she highlighted, her eyes quieting with curiosity. "What's your secret? Every time a guy breaks up with me, my parents have to call up The Dr. Phil Show to help with pulling me out of my major depression."

Recalling the time that Phillip Kinsey had broken up with Beth, Noelle nodded in quiet concurrence. The pale girl wasn't lying.

Rachel's movements came to an almost comical still once she realized that she was being spoken to. She began to chew the inside of her cheek. "Well, I... don't really have a secret, to be honest with you. I just understand that Quinn and I are not a good fit. We were doing more damage by being together. The end of our relationship was a blessing, or at least that is how I am choosing to look at it. I wish her the best, despite the fact that I boarded this yacht to find her calling me derogatory names. If at any point she wants to talk, I'll talk, since I'm concerned about how she may be taking the news about Finn. But aside from that, I am going to continue on with things as normal."

Noelle took a bite of her lobster salad canapé and sighed as she chewed. In all honesty, she still wasn't over the disrespectful scene that they'd walked into upon boarding the yacht.

Over and over again she'd apologized to Rachel, explaining that she hadn't a clue about the fact that Quinn, her ex, would also be in attendance.

How could anybody call Rachel a loser, and with such venom in their voice?

At this point, Noelle could no longer say that she deemed the Head Cheerleader to be pretty at all. In fact, when she looked at the blonde, the depth of her internal ugliness just seemed to ooze from every previously perfect pore, distorting all physical pleasantries.

The same rule applied to Benjamin Price too, who'd scurried off into hiding after almost losing a tooth at the hands of Rachel's verbal bitch slap earlier, funnily enough.

Beth placed her glass down on a nearby table. "I'm not trying to be an insensitive ass here, not to you or to Finn, but I've got to say that Quinn's hot – and that's coming from a straight girl," she gushed, growing pink around her pale ears. "Anywho, I wish that I could be as mature as you are about break ups. Quinn calling you a loser just shows that she's not over you or your goodies yet, 'cause you seem pretty cool to me."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Rachel smiled and sort of ducked her head, warmed by Beth's words of encouragement. "Thank you. That means a lot. It's not every day that people refer to me as cool. "

"I may not always tell you that you're cool, but –" Noelle halted her quip, glancing over her shoulder at the sudden commotion that had just erupted behind them.

Crumpling her forehead as though being subjected to a bad smell, Rachel was quick to follow her friend's unimpressed gaze. What she saw failed to make her eyes pop; a belligerent and stumbling Quinn, who could just about stand upright.

Hardly a shock, considering the speed with which she had seen the cheerleader tossing drinks back.

But the curly-haired boy, the one who was stood by the floppy blonde's side, touching all over her under the guise of wanting to assist? He certainly seemed dubious, at least he did to the aspiring Broadway star.

"Who is that boy?" she soon asked.

"Wade Massey," Noelle answered, growing more and more uncomfortable as she watched Wade begin to escort the babbling Head Cheerleader towards the plush interior area. "Yeah, so I'm not Quinn's biggest fan, but she isn't in any state to give consent to anything sexual, and he looks like he's taking her inside to proposition her," she quickly deduced. "Us girls all need to band together when it comes to stuff like this."

She shot Beth a serious look, which was returned with a strong concurring nod.

In response to having her suspicions voiced aloud, Rachel bristled and began to chew the inside of her cheek, her brow pinching with indecision.

"Are you gonna go, or do you want me to?" Noelle prompted, everything about her countenance serious.

Without further comment, Rachel hurried off through the clusters of teens...

But seconds later, she found herself inside of the yacht's warm and majestic living quarters, hot on Quinn's heels.

Strands of her silk brown hair were still strewn across her face from where the wind had met a worthy opponent in her hasty footsteps.

"Quinn!" she called down the hallway, and rather loudly too.

The Head Cheerleader angled her body away from Wade's persistent touch, batted his hands away from her upper thighs, and then turned around.

In the blink of an eye, her vulnerable demeanor evaporated, replaced by something coarse and hostile. "What?" she grunted, almost wavering on her feet due to the force of it. "How about you go back out there," she spat, jabbing an acrimonious finger at the doors through which they'd just entered," and... and hang all over Noelle, since you're so good at that!"

Rachel sighed wearily, though hell would freeze over before she would allow Quinn to deter her!

She placed her hands on her hips, and rooted her feet firm to the ground. "I would just like to speak with you, Quinn. That's all. You've obviously had quite a bit to drink, and I'm not just going to stand by and let you be taken advantage of."

With a testy click of the tongue, Wade stopped easing open the door to the bedroom. "Get the message!" he snarled. "Quinn doesn't wanna talk to _you_!"

"She doesn't want your STD-ridden dick in her mouth either, but that doesn't appear to be discouraging you, does it?" Rachel instantly counted, making a point to grant this jerk not a shred of eye contact.

Instead she continued to hold Quinn's somewhat softening yet vacant golden gaze...

Pretty soon, Wade's eyes began to darken. He flitted them between the two silent girls, sensing that his opportunity to have sex with the blonde beauty was slipping away with every second that passed.

But he was Wade Massey, and he was not about to go down without a fight!

Little did he know...

He stepped out from behind Quinn and towered over the mouthy little cock-block. "Look you little bitch -"

Well... that was all it took.

Like she was an appliance that had just been plugged into the mains, Quinn sparked to life. She shoved the stupid boy to the side with all of her given might, watching him stumble off into the wall that shouldered the narrow hallway.

"Hey!" Rachel immediately piped up, stepping in-between them. "Stop it!"

But once Quinn's smooth bikini-clad chest pressed up, supple yet firm and imposing against her shoulder, the brunette wasn't so sure as to whether or not the blonde had even heard her.

"The **fuck** d'you think you are?" Quinn spat at the boy, and much louder than her bubble-like sense of sound could perceive in that moment. "All the money in the world's not gonna save you, rich boy! Call her a bitch again, ass-clown, and we'll see who the bitch is!"

Rachel huffed; her eardrum was going to need to be replaced after this. She was sure of it.

"The hell's the matter with you? You were the one calling her a loser earlier!" Wade whined, shrinking into himself pathetically as he rubbed the swelling area at the back of his skull; the area that had thumped the wall.

"What's your point, douche? She's **my** God damn loser!" Quinn roared, pointing her finger into her own chest with so much force that she was sure to be sore tomorrow. "I'll call her a loser all freaking day long if I want to – she knows, deep down, that I don't mean it! But you and your homo-erotic friends can't! You assholes don't know her!"

Upon the sudden silence, Rachel ducked her head and cleared her throat. Well, she hadn't expected to hear any of that. It was_ sort of_ sweet, ironic, and comical in a way, she supposed – that Quinn Fabray, inebriated or not, would say things like that. About her.

What a spectacularly peculiar few days it had been.

"Man, forget you guys. It's not worth the hassle," Wade suddenly mumbled, taking off down the hallway.

For him, foreign waters was being told no. And even more foreign was being physically thrown around by pretty little blonde sluts.

Whatever though; the jacuzzi had been brimming with plenty of other hot girls who were desperate for attention the last time that he'd checked…

Together, Rachel and Quinn watched until he bustled out through the doors that led to the outer deck, and then they looked at one another at the same time, just like in the movies.

"Well that was... interesting," Rachel mused, passing her hands down the front of her black skinny jeans.

"What do you want from me?" Quinn grumbled, impatient.

"I think that we need to talk," Rachel urged, without missing a beat. "I can't have you running around getting shit-faced, Quinn. It isn't good for any of us, and I _never_ want to hear that anybody has taken advantage of you in your drunken state. Guys won't think twice, mostly due to the fact that you're _so_ beautiful!" she stressed with her hands, almost pleading. "Now, I'm not sure why you've gotten yourself into _such_ a state," the brunette said, gesturing up and down the motionless yet swaying blonde as if to state her point, "but regardless of what has happened between us, you can talk to me at any time. At the risk of sounding like Miss Pillsbury, I'll always listen."

Quinn rubbed both of her palms over her face, rigorous and fast; kind of like how dogs shook water from their fur after a bath.

Why was everything so jumbled and confusing at the moment?

The silence swelled loud within the hallway, still yet pregnant, and then –

"I'm sorry I called you a loser earlier," Quinn mumbled from behind her hands, child-like.

At the rare and unexpected sight, an amused grin glided in and captured Rachel's lips.

Never had she glimpsed this side of the cheerleader before.

Never had she imagined that it would even exist.

Simply put, it was cute. Not that the brunette condoned – or ever would condone – drinking to excess!

"It was uncalled for, yes, but you needn't worry about it Quinn. I've sort of developed a thick skin when it comes to insults. You and your goons have, essentially, equipped me for the criticism that is sure to come along with my Broadway dreams. Like I said before, life's about how one chooses to look at things."

"I-I only said it because you really pissed me off last night," Quinn was quick to explain.

She lowered her pale hands from her face, which was stirred at the hands of a deep flustered grimace. "You told me that you were done with everything, and I didn't – you wouldn't – I didn't do anything wrong, " she fumbled out, blinking over and over again, as though she was confusing even herself. "I didn't do what you said I did."

For a moment, Rachel cast her mind back to the previous night, considering that maybe she had perhaps acted a little impetuously.

She'd even threatened to call the police, in order to have them remove the stubborn cheerleader from her home. But it wasn't as though her suspicions and actions were altogether unfounded, she reasoned.

The brunette thumbed through the libraries of her mind, seeking to explain her previous behavior in the best way that she possibly could.

Though she wasn't at all certain that anything that she said would remain once Quinn's beer goggles had worn off.

Still, she didn't want to leave the other girl, who finally seemed to be opening up, hanging.

"You have to understand that whilst I am not afraid of you, I am rather wary of you, Quinn," Rachel stated, making sure to let those words settle before continuing. "I know how you can be, which was why I assumed that your initial intentions regarding that kiss were manipulative. If they were not, then I apologize. But I'm still not satisfied with the fact that you saw your lipstick on my face, and sent me out to –"

A distant thud sounded just then, snatching the words right from the brunette's tongue.

She took owlish eyes around the fixtures and fittings – down the hallway, and then back up again.

No other souls were present, as far as she could see.

But why take the chance?

"Maybe we should take this conversation inside, so that we may speak in a freer manner," she softly suggested, bobbing her head towards the partially open bedroom door just behind the cheerleader.

Quinn looked towards the room, as if it were a doorway that led to the edge of a two-hundred-and-fifty foot cliff.

And it was. For her at least, because she knew that...

"If we go in there, I'm probably gonna kiss you again," she slurred, shrugging like the two of them were pretty much just helpless victims of fate at this point. "And this time you'll _know_ it's not fake. I promise."

The smatterings of a challenge that had reverberated within the blonde's husky voice washed through the aspiring Broadway star, who couldn't help but smirk at the abrupt change in Quinn's demeanor – despite not really knowing what to make of the somewhat racy comment.

Quinn Fabray was openly flirting with her; CNN would be on the phone pestering her for the full story once they had learned of the incident, Rachel was sure.

"What are you smirking at?" Quinn grumbled, having thought that she'd finally managed to silence the quick-tongued shorter girl, once and for all.

But the smirk that currently defined the brunette's features – it suggested otherwise.

"You, Quinn. I'm smirking at you," Rachel responded with an air of gentle impishness. "I don't agree with the amount that you've had to drink, but you're certainly a cute drunk. I will give you that."

The Head Cheerleader huffed, slinging her hands over her ears. "Shut up; I'm not listening. I'm not cute. I'm sexy. Always sexy."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "You _can_ be _both_!" she emphasized loudly.

"You're both," Quinn mumbled at the ground as she let her hands fall to her sides.

Rachel stared at the blonde, without so much as blinking. She was, quite frankly, failing to grasp how Quinn could be one way one second, and then another in the next.

Nevertheless...

"Let's go inside and talk, Quinn," the brunette once again suggested, this time gently brushing past the cheerleader on her way into the room.

From the doorway, Quinn ran her hand back through her billowing golden tresses. She took a deep breath, and only then did she finally follow after the girl that had undoubtedly turned her world on its axis...


	14. Chapter 14

**This seemed to come out petty quickly. Must be you guys inspiring me ;) Thanks for that. Not a terribly long chapter but I'm hoping that you will get some enjoyment out it anyway :) My apologies if there are any errors.  
**

* * *

The distant song that boomed from the upper deck of the yacht seeped down, baselessly, into the well-kept room – some technical, almost science-fiction-like, Dubstep track.

As Rachel parked herself at the foot of the large bed and waited for Quinn to stop whispering hushed profanities at the chair that she'd stubbed her toe on, she turned her lip up at what she could hear of the growling, gritty, constantly changing baseline.

She would never understand why her peers were into such music. It was sheer eardrum abuse. Chaos' signature sound.

Hopefully it wasn't a sign of things to come.

Nevertheless, she could and would ignore the offensive music, for there were more pressing matters at hand.

Her large doe eyes skated across the room to find a seemingly triumphant Quinn, who had just kicked over the chair that had offended her, and was now stood over it like a boss.

"What on God's green earth – you know what? It's fine. Just come and sit down please, Quinn."

The blonde folded her arms. Huffily. "I can talk from here," she mumbled.

Rachel snorted out a quiet bark of laughter. "I can assure you that I don't have anything contagious, save my sensible and glowing attitude. You are the one with the flu."

"If you wanna talk, talk!"

The aspiring Broadway star's smile slid down her face like oozing raw egg, replacing itself with a perplexed frown.

Upon walking into this room, had Quinn stepped into a different dimension?

"I never know which Quinn Fabray I'm going to get," Rachel confessed, lapping one of her legs over the other and dusting off her thigh. "I mean, granted you are intoxicated at the moment. But aside from that, it seems that you love to keep me guessing."

"It's because you get on my... you get on my nerves, all the time," Quinn quietly admitted, sniffing away the fog in her nose as she swayed on the spot.

"Besides the fact that I've often done my best to irritate you in the past, for the sake of my own personal amusement, why do I get on your nerves?"

"You're..." The cheerleader silenced herself; her mind flooded with all of the words that she could use to describe the shorter girl, each one less derogatory than the last, until finally _the_ word came to mind. "You're strong... too strong, and I don't – it makes me feel – I don't like it."

A slow processing nod puppeteered Rachel's head, up and down. She clasped her hands in her lap. "Alright, so you think that I'm strong, and you don't like it," she clarified with herself, before regarding the blonde again. "Is that why you seem to think that you are attracted to me? – No, that's not what I mean entirely. What I'm asking is do you think that your sudden attraction to me stems from the old adage: if you can't beat them, then join them?"

It was a valid question, especially since the brunette knew the extent to which Quinn _hated_ to be bested.

"No," Quinn drawled, continuously trying, and failing, to finger the hair that was tickling her cheek behind her ear.

Eventually she just sighed and let her hand flop back down to her side, enduring the tickle. "I _do_ like that you're strong. It's – I like the challenge," she continued to slur wistfully. "But I don't like it too, 'cause it's not really a... a challenge; you hate me for real." She sighed one of those heavy drunken sighs. "And now I want another shot."

Rachel's eyebrows stooped in towards each other, conveying – along with the rest of her features – that she was immensely sympathetic. "I don't want you to think that. For the umpteenth time, I don't hate you," she gently stressed. "You have my word – and no more alcohol please."

"Ok," Quinn rather easily backed down.

Confusion tugged Rachel's eyebrows back up. "Ok?" she echoed, terribly unsure as to which part of her response the child-like blonde was agreeing to.

"Ok _Rachel_," Quinn corrected herself, clearing her throat.

Although a frown had taken to eating into her tan forehead, Rachel simply could not deny her insistent laughter; it lurched, full-lunged and reckless, from her throat, rolling through her chest and shoulders as she struggled to say: "That wasn't what I – I'm not a drill sergeant. You don't have to say my -"

"Yes _Rachel_!"

The tickled brunette tossed her arms up in the air, and then let them flop back down again, hopelessly mirthful.

What was she going to do with this girl?

As of that moment, she had adamantly made up her mind. She wanted a Drunk-Quinn action figure, complete with the blue bikini, and a string that one could pull in order to hear adorable side-splitting catchphrases.

Still chuckling to herself, the brunette began to tap her own chin, pondering the how and the when. Maybe she could get one manufactured once her Broadway career had taken off...

Either way, she just knew that she wanted to remember this random and ridiculously hilarious moment for as long as she lived, if not for anything else other than so that she could chortle at a catchphrase or two whenever she was feeling down.

She'd intended to ask the blonde about how she was coping with Finn's disappearance, but the energy that currently ruled the space between them didn't seem as though it would be conducive to such a serious and probing question.

"Stop laughing at me," Quinn suddenly huffed, dropping down to the floor like an empty suit of armor. She pulled both of her creamy knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, peering over her kneecaps at the brunette, who had now stood up to bat the wrinkles out of the silky duvet, for whatever reason.

For the very first time, somehow, Quinn noticed that something was different.

Scouring her mind, she went through a checklist; Rachel's hair was still brown, she was still the same height – still had that nose.

Then it occurred to her!

Rachel's calves were not visible, and with such a realization the aspiring Broadway star's ass seemed to protrude out against the tight black denim that held it captive; shapely, pert, and wondrously proportional.

Quinn swallowed. Hard.

She'd seen people in skinny jeans before, and had not so much as batted an eyelid. This should not have been any different.

But it was.

As a matter of fact, it was very different...

Now satisfied with the smooth state of the duvet, or rather now that her mild OCD was satisfied with the smooth state of the duvet, Rachel twirled on her heel and –

Her front suddenly collided with something firm, the mere shock of it catapulting her back onto the mattress, which rolled like the water beneath the yacht under the abrupt impact. "Quinn Fabray!" she shrieked up at the other girl, grasping her palpitating chest as though it had confessed that it had had enough, and was leaving her for someone who wasn't so easily shaken. "You cannot just – just materialize like that!"

"You look nice in jeans," Quinn muttered down at the panting brunette, as though that explained everything – including the secrets of the universe. "I was supposed to pick you up and throw you on the bed, l-like in the movies, but that..." She shook her head, ruffling her hand through her hair to the point that it spiked out in every which direction – a chaotic blonde firework. "It didn't work."

"Well thank Barbra for _that_! You would've dropped me! I mean it this time! This is the very last time that I am ever going to allow you to drink in my presence! We need to get you some food to soak up that alcohol, stat!" Rachel panted, letting her head fall back, limp, on the bed.

She closed her eyes, and just allowed herself to breathe her jarred spirit back into the parameters of her body.

**Clearly** they were not going to get anything of importance discussed today!

Little did the brunette know that the foolery was only just beginning...

The next few seconds saw a clumsy weight descend down upon the bed, and before she could crack an eye open, two knees had sunken in either side of her hips, bringing with them a purring sensuous warmth.

...

"Quinn?"

"Huh?" came the blonde's voice, spoken so casually.

Rachel sighed, though her eyelids remained fallen. "Please tell me that you are not straddling me in nothing but your bikini."

"I'm straddling you, in nothing but my bikini – and, and I'm gonna kiss you in a second, because you thought that the last one was fake."

The aspiring Broadway star slowly opened her eyes, peering up at the magnificence that was Quinn Fabray's toned body. Her reluctantly keen gaze swallowed in the barely covered breasts that hung, like perfect weighty spheres, just inches from her lips.

A thousand protests teetered at the tip of her tongue, but not one had escaped yet, stolen by the sheer magnitude of Quinn's physical perfection.

"You can touch me if you want," Quinn purred, sounding much more sober than she had just moments ago. She trailed a lone finger down the brunette's nose, soft as a whisper.

"N-No! No touching! No kissing! We must go outside and find you some food. _Heavy_ foods!" Rachel stammered out, somehow feeling like she was speaking directly to the blonde's erect nipples.

She quickly averted her sight, which – typical – then chose to settle upon the chiseled abs that etched the expanse of Quinn's stomach.

Nevertheless.

"Come on, let's go and get you something to eat," she defiantly repeated, beginning to rise up on her elbows.

However, her continuous efforts to sit up proved fruitless, rendered futile thanks to the dominant pressure that Quinn had exerted down through her hips.

The two stared at one another; challenging, probing, requesting.

Comical.

"Quinn, I'll scream."

"Why? This is your thing. You like girls to sit on you – to bounce on top of you."

Well...

Rachel gulped, parting her lips only to bring them back together again. Conscious not to touch any part of the creamy toned body that had essentially trapped her, she considered her next few words very carefully.

And then she spoke: "Yes, that may very well be my thing, as you put it. But you are not of sound mind right now, and I am not going to lead you on. Now, come on – you can eat a couple of the snacks that are outside."

Quinn puffed her cheeks out, lifting a pale finger to prod at them. "Let's make a... a deal."

"No deals."

"Yes deals," the blonde insisted, slapping the bed petulantly.

"Dear Barbra, what have I done to deserve this?"

Apparently Barbra was otherwise engaged; as was Quinn, who had scooted all the way down Rachel's body, from where she quickly tugged up the hem of the shorter girl's sweater and stuffed the entirety of her head underneath it.

Simply exhausted at this point, Rachel glanced down, watching her sweater sort of rise and fall with each one of the cheerleader's breaths; feeling hot gushes waft out across her tensing stomach. "Alright Quinn!" she said, her words carrying an air of practicality as she tapped the fidgeting bulge, "propose this deal. What is it that I have to tell you in order to get you to go out there and eat some food? – And kisses are off the table!"

"Do dwarfs normally have abs?" came Quinn's muffled wheezy reply.

"At this point, I don't even posses the wherewithal to get offended. Now, about this deal..."

"If you want me to eat, I-I want a date – you have to give me a-a chance. I'm a really nice person," Quinn whispered, suddenly growing perfectly still as she squeezed her eyes shut within the dark shelter of Rachel's sweater.

She waited, just like that...

With the verbalization of such an outlandish request, images of the two arguing over who was going to open doors for who bombarded the uncomfortable brunette's mind's eye.

A romantic date?

With Quinn Fabray?

Chuckling gently, Rachel palmed her own forehead.

Surely this was on television and that idiot, Ashton Kutcher, was about to slither out from beneath the bed with a hand camera, exclaiming: "Surprise! You've been punked!"

Truthfully, she could not see herself ever dating the girl that had trapped her between her strong creamy thighs.

Quinn was a known cheat; possessive, impatient, _and_ aggressive. It would appear that she also lacked the ability to effectively communicate her feelings, instead opting to keep them bottled up and primed to erupt at any given moment.

Then there was the fact that, for years, the cheerleader had made it her mission to bully the snot out of those that dared not to conform to her ideals.

The trust would never be there, Rachel gleaned.

Now, the sexual chemistry on the other hand. Maybe, she reluctantly concluded, rolling her eyes at her quiet kept yet lively teenage libido. But sex was hardly the most important staple in a relationship; at least it wasn't for the aspiring Broadway star...

"What's your – test's over! Pencils down!" Quinn demanded. "Do you have an answer?" she prompted, her tone thin due to the fact that she'd unconsciously taken to holding her breath. "And if you say the wrong answer, I'm gonna blow a-a raspberry on your stomach."

"I'll – yes, I'll..." Rachel sighed away the tension that had tautened her abs, and nodded. "Provided that you still wish to do this once you've sobered up, of course." She shrugged, grimacing slightly. "What's the harm in... one little date?" she asked, though she wasn't so sure that she wasn't trying to convince herself.

But when she felt Quinn gasp excitement against her stomach, a quiet smile eased the corners of her lips up, quelling her previous wince. "Come on then, let's go and find you something to eat."

Quinn slowly pulled her head out from beneath the sweater, as a result of the prompting. She merrily settled her chin on top of the brunette's navel, grinning victoriously as well as lopsided.

Rachel could not fathom that this was happening. She still hadn't accepted the idea of the blonde finding her attractive. It just – it all seemed **so** implausible. So science-fiction.

One thing was crystal clear though. Sober Quinn Fabray may not have been a match for Rachel Berry, but a drunken Quinn Fabray?

Well, the proof was in the pudding...

Mrs Anita Lopez grabbed her diary from the long pinewood dining table. She flipped the little black book open and swiftly flickered through the untidy scrawl that marred most of the pages.

Being a Cardiac Surgeon certainly had its pluses, but rushing around like a headless chicken during busy evening shifts such as this was not one of them. One was bound to forget things at home.

The short caramel-skinned woman adjusted her glasses about the bridge of her gradually crinkling nose, soundlessly mouthing dates and appointments to herself in the quiet of the Lopez lounge.

"Aha!" she whispered once she'd located the long sought after page.

Santana slammed the garage door, storming into the lounge through the kitchen. "Where's my damn baseball bat?" she grunted, hands on her hips. "Dad said he put it in the garage, but it's not in there. I just looked."

As she glanced up from her diary, Anita's shoulders slumped in her long white medical coat; she could repair the lives of strangers, but she hadn't been able to fix her daughter's bad temper since the sassy teenager had developed it at the age of five-years-old. "What do you need a baseball bat for at seven-thirty in the evening?"

The simple question seemed to linger on in the silence for much too long.

Anita's steely dark eyes probed her clearly het up daughter's. What they found spoke of malicious intent, and malicious intent only. "Don't make me call your abuela, since she's the only person that you seem to listen to around here. What have we told you? _No more_ violence!" she emphasized. "The way that kismet works, your victims will probably end up on my operating table."

Santana rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, keeping her bored glare there as her mother went on, and on, and on…

She didn't care what her mother had to say, and she no longer cared about the stupid baseball bat. She had a score to settle. One that she would settle with her fists if necessary.

If she had anything to say about it, Noelle Hutchington-Chang was going to be in for a rough night...


End file.
